How Growing Up Without A Dad Taught Me About The World

Many people say they can't imagine their lives without their dad present, but it taught me more than I ever could have imagined.

In the beginning, my father was there for me; not in the traditional sense, but the seldom times when he could muster the strength to pull himself out of bed were wonderful! We would go on walks, go ice skating, and he made the most delicious meals, at least in the eyes of a little girl. As the years flew by, he became gradually less available due to crippling depression and the home wrecking disease that is known as Schizophrenia. At the age of 7, I was fully responsible for dressing myself, getting myself breakfast, and heading out to school because even on the days my dad would set his alarm clock he could not seem to pull himself out of the debilitating cloud of depression and I would be responsible for myself regardless of his intentions; this taught me my first important "real-life" lesson. You cannot depend on anyone except for yourself. Even if somebody has the best intentions, nothing is ever guaranteed.

As I reached the age of 14, I had been living with my mother because my dad's illnesses were officially diagnosed and had reached full maturity; he was in and out of the mental ward, on and off different medications, and hardly in my life. As a young teenager, realizing my father could not be the father I need hurt like hell; it's still one of the worst feelings I can recall having in my short life. This situation caused me a lifetime worth of heartache and headache; it's nearly impossible to have a meaningful and consistent relationship of any degree with a severe Schizophrenic. This began the process of detaching myself from my own father, attempting to forget all of our good times, all of the times he took care of me when I was sick, that I had once looked at him with all of the admiration in the world, the times he played dolls with me, and even the recent times when we had jammed together with him on his guitar and me on my ukulele. At this point, my second lesson was in the process of being learned and recognized. It's okay to grieve, losing somebody to death or to life changes is hard with a capital H, and not confronting your feelings will only make it worse for you.

Now, I am 18 years old. I have graduated high school and I am moments away from beginning the journey of earning an English degree. I have my own home, a part time job, a lovely boyfriend, and I love life. Two years ago, my dad passed away. I'll never forget receiving my grandmother's call that he was in the ICU because he had doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. It hurts not having my father, it hurts I couldn't stop it, and it hurts that he can't see where I am in life right now; I know he'd be proud. Yet, I know there is no reasoning with mental illness, that he was never happy in life and he never would be; I only hope wherever he is now is filled with peace and he can feel my love from that far away, sometimes I think I can feel his. The road to the start of amazing life was not easy, it was arduous and hard, and I had moments where I didn't think I could do it, but I can tell you it's worth it. It always get better; that's the third lesson I learned. No matter how hard life gets and awful it all seems, it will always get better and you will be okay if you just keep hanging on.