Chapter 1: The Foundation of Our Family

How does one navigate the impending loss of a loved one that arrives too soon? This question lingered heavily in my heart as I reflect on my father's passing.

My father was the cornerstone of our family, a steadfast presence who held us together through life's challenges. He was a man of tough love, overflowing with wisdom, yet he neglected his own health, which ultimately led to his premature departure from our lives.

Despite his struggles with addiction, he was an exceptional father. He imparted valuable life lessons and devoted time to us whenever he could. He played a crucial role in mending disputes among my siblings and me, always ready to lend a hand, even as we grew into adults. His devotion extended further to his grandchildren; my daughter, who never had a father figure, found in him the closest thing to a dad. Being the first grandchild, she was cherished—perhaps a tad excessively! As a grandmother now, I fully understand the irresistible urge to indulge them.

The day my father passed was marked by his long-standing battle with alcohol, which escalated after my mother’s death. She had been a stabilizing force in his life, and once she was gone, he succumbed to drinking, gambling, and drugs. All three of his children faced similar struggles with addiction, yet I’m the youngest and the only one who has found sobriety. I’ve been clean for around 12 years and quit smoking as well. If you’re interested, you can read more about my journey to being over 11 years sober here.

On that fateful day, when my father visited me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He appeared unwell, but I initially attributed it to a hangover. He had already suffered one heart attack, so I hoped he would recognize any warning signs. After leaving my house, he was headed to my sister’s place when tragedy struck. Just five minutes from me, he got into a car accident while en route to drop off some drugs.

The circumstances of the accident felt strange. My father was known for his reckless driving—darting between lanes as if he were invincible. That day, he spun out of control and crashed into a utility pole. Typically, such a spin would suggest an impact from behind, but the weather was clear, and the car bore a dent on the rear that I hadn’t seen before. I suspect someone may have fled the scene. A bystander stopped to check on him, but it was unusual for my father to ask for help. He had always embodied a tough exterior. The official report stated he died from a second heart attack, but I found it all rather peculiar.

As the youngest, I felt powerless and unheard in the wake of this tragedy. My sister seemed unwilling to ask questions, and while I tried to encourage her, I didn’t push too hard since we were all in mourning. My father had just picked up a check for a reverse mortgage, intending to spend it at the casino. His recent diagnosis of colon cancer had made us aware that time was limited, but we never expected it to come so swiftly.

It’s been nearly eight years since I last spoke to my brother or sister. My father’s absence has deepened the rift, leaving us each to cope with our grief in isolation. I’m uncertain if we’ll ever truly reunite as a family, and to be honest, I've come to terms with that. I can elaborate further in another piece, but it’s difficult to be the youngest, often overlooked, and not taken seriously by my older siblings. So, I’ve made peace with the distance.

Still, I miss my dad dearly. He was the one who truly understood me and always stood by my side.

©Kerrie Gutierrez-Diaz 2022 All Rights Reserved