Our Family Coat of Arms

I saw my dad again, on Monday.
All four of us kids had agreed that we would not put ourselves through a "visit" with him again, until he came back from rehab. But he called, again, and asked, again, and he raised such damn, nice kids, that we all agreed to see him, again. He was scheduled to leave on Wednesday for a year of treatment, and so we reasoned that we could gather together to say good bye. So we braced ourselves, guarded our hearts, tried to hide our vulnerabilities, and went.

And though I didn't want it to, my heart went all soft towards him, again. He's so good at breaking it, it's a dangerous business, this. But, he sat in a chair across from us, and he had us all laughing, and told us he was sorry, and we all started crying, and he made fun of himself, and admitted he was afraid.
And it was my dad.
The one I grew up with.
Addicted as hell, trying his damnedest, making us all laugh anyways. It's the first time I've seen that dad in two years.

My family is so broken. So broken. And so beautiful.

My hope takes on different shades with age. For years, we had a tacky, family "Coat of Arms" hanging in our living room. Our crest was of a dragon with a bloody hand in its mouth, and the translation of our motto was, "Never, never let go". This is not the first time my dad has gone away to deal with his addictions. If history is any indication, it wont be the last. He is fifty six years old. I am thirty. There has not been a time in my life when he was not trying to overcome something. But he keeps trying. And he fucks us all up, tears our hearts to pieces, and scars all our souls in the process. We all draw boundary lines, cross them, draw new ones, seek healthiness, write him off, return to forgive him, draw new lines again. He has made us all older than our years and familiar with grief.

I am no longer looking for a moment to which I can point to and say, "Look here. This is the day dad won." What I have come to hope for now, is that he will never quit trying. Bloody hands, missing limbs, sore hearts, and we are all looking battle weary. What I hope for my family, is that we continue to find ways to love him in the struggle, while valuing it. What I hope for, is kind, generous grace poured over our sad heads, in abundance, and upturned faces to receive it.