Addiction is one of those things people think they understand until it touches their life. It’s easy to judge from the outside, to label it as a choice or something that can be easily overcome. I used to think that way too. But then addiction became personal, and my perspective changed forever.
When I lost someone who stepped in as a father figure, right before I turned 13, it felt like my world turned upside down. For a few years, he filled the shoes of my biological father in ways that truly mattered. He wasn’t perfect, but he cared about me deeply and made me feel like I was important in his life.
He made the best fried chicken I’ve ever had and would sit with me to watch Madea movies or some ridiculous reality show. He had a way of making those moments feel special, even if we were just sitting around doing nothing.
He’d get upset if I didn’t call him not because he was demanding, but because he genuinely wanted to hear from me. It was those little things that made me feel loved in ways I didn’t always notice at the time.
What I didn’t see back then was the battle he was fighting. Addiction was a part of his life, but it wasn’t the only part. It wasn’t something I understood until it was too late. I didn’t realize how much it was taking from him or how much it would take from me when he was gone.
When he passed, I didn’t know how to handle the weight of it. It left me angry and confused. No matter how hard I tried, his absence stayed with me.
But as much as losing him hurt, it also gave me something I carry with me every day. From him, I take my love for ballads, something that feels like it’s always been a part of me. I think about the moments we spent together, listening to the music he loved, and how his passion for it became mine. It’s a connection to him that I hold onto.
I wish he could’ve been there for my high school graduation, for the steps I’ve taken, and for the path I’ve chosen. I know he would have been proud of who I’m becoming. I know he would’ve talked to me about life, about work, about everything in between.
Losing him made me realize that addiction is more than just a person’s struggle, it’s something that affects everyone who loves them. I used to judge people who were struggling with addiction, thinking it was something they could just stop. But after seeing what it did to him, I understand how wrong I was.
Addiction doesn’t define who a person is. It’s a part of their story, but it doesn’t take away everything else they are. His addiction didn’t erase his kindness, his humor, or the way he loved me. But it did take him. And that’s something I’ll never get back.
Now, when I think about people struggling with addiction, I think about him. I think about how much more there was to him than his addiction, how much love he gave, and how his presence shaped my life. Addiction might take parts of a person, but it can’t take away the impact they had. His love and the lessons he taught me will always stay with me.
His addiction was part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. And I carry everything else with me.
