It was 13 years ago today that my life would change forever. At 10:30 a.m. I was getting ready fo

   It was 13 years ago today that my life would change forever. At 10:30 a.m. I was getting ready for Tom Joyce’s English 101 class at Canisius College, when I received a collect call in my dorm room from my oldest brother, Gary. His trembling voice ordered me to come home immediately. I insisted that I had class and couldn’t just drop my things and come home.    Since I wasn’t getting the point, he bluntly stated, “Scott, DAD’S DEAD! I tried to wake him up for breakfast, but he’s not moving. He’s cold to the touch.” My heart dropped to the floor, along with my school books. In denial, I told him that I would meet him at the hospital, but he assured me it was too late. A coroner was already on his way.    After hanging up the phone in a panic, I turned to my best friend, John, who was my roommate at the time, and revealed the horrific news. He looked almost as devastated as myself because he had unfortunately lost his own father when he was merely 12. Here I was, a 19 year old naive college student, completely lost, with so many unanswered questions. November 26, 2001 would be the day I forcefully became a man.    My father, who was an only child, lost his father to cancer at the age of 61. They were so close that they were practically inseparable, so when my father lost his own father, part of himself died. Close friends and family say that my father was never the same after that, and he began relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism. He would battle with it for nearly 10 years before his heart finally failed him.    He always said he wanted to die peacefully in his own home, and not as an old decrepit man. If there was anything positive to take away from his sudden death, it was that he didn’t suffer and that, although premature, he went out exactly how he wished. Our last meal together as a family was his home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner that I will cherish for the rest of my life.    I was reluctant to share such a personal, sentimental story, but there’s a serious message I’m hoping to convey. If you battle with alcoholism or substance abuse, please seek help before it’s too late. One of my biggest fears throughout my childhood was the growing possibility of a split family, and although that never happened because my parents loved each other dearly, alcoholism made me feel like I had two fathers: the sober one that I loved, and the drunk one that I despised.    There were nights he’d pass out on the couch and I’d check his breathing because I had this horrible feeling that his body just couldn’t handle the alcohol abuse much longer. It was bad enough that he chain smoked 2½ packs of cigarettes per day since he was 10 YEARS OLD, and he did so around my family (indoors) all the time. We had to paint our yellow-stained ceilings white every 6 months because he smoked indoors too. One of the many reasons why I’ve never smoked a cigarette (besides promising my grandfather I wouldn’t) was because I had choked on second hand smoke my entire life.    Although I’m left with so many unanswered questions, and I really wish I could have another conversation with him on Earth, I’ve learned from my father’s mistakes and have used many of his failures as a guideline for my own life. My family will openly admit that I was “daddy’s boy,” and although it sometimes created animosity among us, he always had my back. He made me believe I was capable of doing incredible things that I never knew were otherwise possible.    I lettered in four sports in high school, maintained straight A’s in advanced placement classes, played college football, and went on to earn multiple degrees and certificates on academic and athletic scholarships. NONE of that would’ve been possible if it weren’t for my mother and father’s love, perseverance, and encouragement to be the best I can be. During the last memorable conversation I had with my father, just days before his death, he told me that he was proud of me and knew that I’d be successful at whatever I put my mind to. That echoes with me still today.    One of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received was from a follower (who’s since become a great friend), who told me that it was obvious that I was loved as a child. Although my mother deserves much of the credit for the way my brothers and I turned out, my father loved us all unconditionally, too. I am extremely grateful to have had 19 years with my father, and am lucky to be the middle child among FIVE boys that my parents had together in a 6.5-year span. They’re an incredible support system, and I’m proud to call them my family.    On this Thanksgiving Day, whether you’re religious or not, please do me a favor and tell your friends and family how much you love them, because we all have a limited time here on Earth and I’ve already taken 10 minutes of your time with this writeup. 1-800-662-HELP is a confidential, free, 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year, information service for individuals and family members facing mental health and/or substance use disorders. We love you and miss you, Dad. You live on with us in memory and spirit forever.  -- source link

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