Erik Proulx never hated his father, “a wonderful person with a terrible sickness”: heroin addiction.
This Sunday, kids around America will serve breakfast to their fathers in bed. They will bring them boxes stuffed with ties and power tools and fairway woods. Fathers and sons and daughters will watch golf together as a man in a red shirt tries to win the U.S. Open. And dads will read the words Hallmark scribed because children don’t have the capacity yet to form them themselves.
As a father, it’s an honor for me to be the recipient of all this honoring. But as a son, I never had the opportunity give it. My dad was gone before I was three and died when I was 12, ultimately succumbing to the heroin addiction that forced my mom to kick him out of our third-floor apartment in Lawrence, MA.
I never “hated” my father, mostly because my mom was always very careful to speak kindly of him. “A wonderful person with a terrible sickness” was how I came to understand him. I never felt much of anything, really. There was just an emptiness where all the memories should have been.
But despite not knowing him, I’d like to honor my father, Wayne Stephen Proulx, with the words it’s taken me 40 years to say. Words I’d like to believe aren’t that different from what other imperfect sons are writing, thinking, and saying to other imperfect fathers
Here goes:
Dear Dad,
I know you’ve been waiting a long time for a father’s day present from me. To be completely honest, I never really knew what to get the man who gave up everything. But I have come to realize lately that I’ve been so wrapped up in my own wounds that I neglected to acknowledge yours.
From being abused when you were a child, to having alcoholic, addicted parents, to having a baby at 18 years old, to growing up in the 60s where drugs of every size and strength were both accessible and acceptable—I can now say, I understand why you weren’t around.
It’s taken me 40 years to realize something very powerful, dad. By not being in my life, you were the best father you could be. I know that sounds like a backhanded compliment, but it isn’t. The illness of addiction is contagious, and your presence would have made me sick, too. You shielded me from your demons, and kept them as your own. And that act took courage.
I know you kept my baby pictures. I know you wanted to come and see me over the 10 years before you died. I’ve heard stories of how you couldn’t wait to take me out on my 18th birthday when we could finally talk man to man.
And I know that every time the thought crossed your mind, you had another thought:
“Not yet. Not until I’m clean.”
Instead, you have given me the very best parts of you. Like you, I’m six feet tall, dark-haired, and handsome. Like you, I have a warm and generous heart. Like you, I am sensitive to the feelings and emotions of those around me. Like (or because of) you, I love the Beatles, and can even play a mean Rocky Raccoon. Like you, I sang “Blackbird” to my kids as they fell asleep in their cribs.
People like to compliment me on the life I’ve lived. They like tell me I’ve broken the chain of addiction. But who’s to say, given similar circumstances, I would have acted any differently? Who’s to say any of us would? If I broke any chains, it’s only because you gave me the bolt cutters.
I get it now. I get how impossible it was. I understand the depths of your own pain. Your cup was full. And your greatest gift to me was to fight the urge to have me in your life. Because by doing so, you gave me mine.
Your grandchildren try so hard to honor me. They want to make me laugh. They want to make me proud. And I want to make you proud too, dad. I want you to know that I’m okay. That in your own way—the only way you could—you raised a great son.
So my gift to you this Father’s Day is to say the thing I’ve never said. Not to you directly. Not even in my head.
I love you, dad.
Happy Father’s Day,
Erik
Read more Father’s Day stories on The Good Life.
Photo courtesy of Erik Proulx
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48 Comments on "To the Father I Never Knew on Father’s Day"
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Kevin…it’s been nearly a year since you wrote this, and I am only now reading it.
Please contact me if you get this. My email is erik dot proulx at gmaildotcom.
[…] To The Father I Never Knew, On Father’s Day – Erik Proulx never hated his father – “A wonderful person with a terrible sickness” of heroin addiction. Here is his letter of forgiveness to his father, on Father’s Day. […]
I’m so sorry for what you went through. It sounds like, as most things that don’t kill us, it made you a better person and a better father in the end. I respect your strength for getting through it in one piece and your compassion for your dad. I’m also glad to see the comments here have been, overall, supportive.
I had a similar experience to Anne (and many others) and wrote about it here: https://goodmenproject.com/divorce/an-open-letter-to-gen-x-dads/
You never cease to amaze me. Im balling my eyes out over here. I can tell you from what I remember about Uncle Wayne he was infact excatly what your mother said. A wonderful, nice, caring man, with a horrible sickness. Love you Erik
Love you too, Tammy. Miss you.
Fantastic.
The nature of comparison is crass, and ultimately useless. But, wow, what would be worse? A dad who was not present physically, or a dad who was there in body but unavailable emotionally? I didn’t spend a lot of mental or emotional energy on my father as I was growing up. Out of sight, out of mind, you know? But to have him in my life everyday without access to him as a person would have been torture. Thank you for sharing, Anne.
I’ve enjoyed getting to know you these past couple of months, Sarah. Thank you so much for your beautiful response.
Very powerful, Erik. Amazing.
And whether one’s parent or parents were in the photo or not….understanding the environment they grew up in, and forgiving them or understanding their choices and their mistakes, is ultimately a great healing moment and one that is also very empowering and calming.
Thank you, Patrick, for your understanding.
My dad was there bouncing in and out of my life. For years ive watched him struggle with his addiction. The chaos an addict can cause in the lives of those around is an awful thing. Maybe its better to have nothing than to have that.
Tom, I agree. And I’m sorry you’ve had to struggle with this. That al-anon word, “detachment,” is so much easier when the addict did the detaching first.
Hi..
I just wanted to say thank you…
I’m a 13 year old girl and my father was also a drug addict..
My mom left him when I was about a year old, and he died 2 years ago..
I was only told that he was a drug addict after he died. So it came as a shock to me.
I’m just glad there is someone who went through something very similar to my situation.
So, thank you.
Jade, you’re welcome. There are a lot of us out there. It helps so much to know we’re not alone. You’re mom did a very good thing by raising you without drug addiction in your life. Be well.
Thank you for this. It is stunningly mature and, yes, compassionate to be able to appreciate and thank someone for their kindness in omission. I know it would be so easy to be bitter and hard, but you’ve chosen another path. That is courageous and beautiful. Thank you for reminding me of how strong it is possible to be.
Tia, thank you for this lovely comment. Inner strength takes exercise, just like any muscle. And I’ve had lots of exercise. 😉
Thank you for sharing Erik. Your Dad must be proud. And happy father’s day to you!
I believe he was, and is. Thank you Cristina.
Wow. Well said… Happy fathers day my frie.d. U r amazing.
Thank you CC!
Thank you for sharing. I don’t know what else to say. When God told his people to “honor thy father and thy mother,” this is what He meant. It’s a beautiful example of what our broken word needs more of: forgiveness. Thank you for sharing.
Forgiveness is an ongoing, active process. I wish it came easier. It makes the world a nicer place to live when I do. Thank you, Ashley.
Auntie Ginger! Thank you for saying all of this. I miss you and hope we get to see each other soon. Love you.
you do not know me i am a friend of your aunt laurie and i think i met your dad a few times . you seem like a very strong person to write what you did i do have to say and keep up your strength
Hi Michelle. Thank you for your response. Hopefully we’ll get to meet one day through Auntie Laurie.
Harley, your words mean a lot to me. Happy Father’s Day to you as well.
My mom is wonderful. She trusted her instincts as a mother, and I am a better man and father because of her. Thank you so much for your response.
Erik,
I had no idea.
THis is a great post. Beautiful and heartfelt. What a complicated occasion Father’s Day must be for you.
Thanks Mike. It’s only ever been an occasion at all since I had children of my own. It’s all good.
Wow, just wow. You just opened my eyes. I never thought of it like that before. I never saw it from that angle. Wow. Thank you.
You’re very welcome, Chantal. Thank YOU for responding.
This is a really beautiful piece. It should begin a collection of stories called Compassion. I’d read it!
I’d read a Compassion collection, too!
Well put, Ellie. Although, there’s been lots of thought, journals, therapy, and recovery work in my own life as well. It’s all necessary. And it’s all a journey. Thank you so much for your kind words.
Love you XO
Love you, too, Ona.