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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I came across this site the other day, because I was thinking about Wayne while I was looking through some photos. Eric, I’m glad you are able to forgive, however; it’s important to know everything you can about your dad. Wayne and I were good friends in the mid seventies. We spent summers at Salisbury State Park campground. I remember your dads bread truck converted to his camper. In the seventies, the back end of the State Park was filled with young people, it was the place to be and have a good time. I remember your dads favorite three… Read more »
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.
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.
Very powerful, as usual, Erik. This day is always hard for me, as my father didn’t drink, smoke, cheat or do drugs. He didn’t do anything. As devastating as your truth was/is, the ability to rest my childhood confusion on a word like “addict” ironically would’ve saved me a lot of time (and therapy). My father envisioned and expected adoring, silent children, a dutiful, silent wife and a sparkling career. He never understood he needed to play an active part in that life if he wanted it. Instead, HE stayed silent – simmering with passive rage as he lost precious… Read more »
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.
Thank you for sharing such a beautiful and heartfelt letter. A friend of mine posted this on FB. I read this aloud to my mom and husband and both thought it was amazing, too. I am very lucky to have a dad that was, and still is, very much in my life. I used to complain that my dad missed all of my formal dances but one because he was always fishing. I now know that inorderto be the loving, laid back dad that he was, he needed to fish to clear the stress instead of letting it out at… Read more »
It feels like an honor to read this, Eric. All at once you’ve opened up a huge window into who you are–thank you for sharing something so personal and touching. I already thought very highly of you but now I’m kind of, well, I’m gobsmacked. Reading the comments from your family and friends as well as those you don’t know is also powerful. I’m a recovering alcoholic/addict. I used everything under the sun, including heroin towards the end, so this hits me in a totally different way. I’m so impressed with your mother for understanding that addiction is a disease… Read more »
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.
Erik I’m glad you are in a good place in your life to write that letter to your dad , but I’m going to take the low road on this one . I am 39 years old and still have a ton of hatred towards my dad for not being there for me , leaving me to figure things out on my own,and for choosing to stick a needle in his arm over raising his son or at least keeping in touch. I think it’s selfish to leave it to the woman to raise the child alone.I totally stumbled on… Read more »
Rob, I can hardly blame you. Did you know your dad before he left? Is he still alive? For some strange reason, that I didn’t know my father made it easier for me to forgive him. I can’t really explain why, exactly, other than to say that I never really knew what I didn’t have. Had we had any kind of relationship, I’m sure it would have been much harder for me to let him go. That said, I still wonder why. I still ask the very black-or-white question, “how could you choose drugs over your son?” But then I… Read more »
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.
Oh Erik, words alone cannot express my Love for you. You have honored a man that loved you more than life itself but couldn’t be the father he wanted to be. You have now completed your journey and I’m sure that he is now happy and his soul is at rest. Thank you for that wonderful tribute to my brother and your father. It took me several times to get through it because of the tears of joy that I couldn’t hold. I am so proud to be your family. Happy Father’s Day to you. You have a wonderful family… Read more »
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.
Life is full of challenges and decisions — and clearly you’re doing your best to navigate the world (and doing a damn fine job of it). We all have issues, but it’s how we deal with them that defines us. Where many would give up or make excuses, you went another way. I’m really in no position to say it, but I feel this should be said: I’m proud of you. (As much as a peer can be proud of you.) It takes guts to take a look at life, figure out as much of it as you can, chart… Read more »
Harley, your words mean a lot to me. Happy Father’s Day to you as well.
Hi Erik! You don’t know me…but i just had the pleasure of reading your Father’s Day letter to your Father. What a gift to have read it. Being grateful for the gift your Dad was able to give you, forgiving him for his shortcomings and loving him just because he is your father is a gift for yourself and a reminder to everyone to do the same. Thank you for the inspiration and sharing your heartfelt letter. Your mother sounds like she is a WONDERFUL woman. You were blessed with her positive attitude and perspective…lucky YOU! Your children are blessed… Read more »
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!
You have captured in one letter what many cannot capture in a lifetime of thought, journals, therapy and recovery work. Addiction and/or the strongholds in our lives is THE greatest epidemic facing our world today. Your forgiveness of your father and your ability to see him as love-worthy as the One who created him is beautiful and inspiring. What a wonderful legacy and example of relationship to pass on to your own children. Simply not continuing the addiction or substance abuse is not enough to break the cycle, shifting our thinking and behavior must also come into play, and you… Read more »
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.
One of the best things I’ve read in a long, long time. Well said Erik. Thanks for sharing your gifts with us.
–Roger
That means a lot. Thank you, Roger.