Last Tuesday, my dad passed away. Sigh.

In the last four years, I have made my peace, made amends, and gained a dad. I went from not being able to be around him to staying with him on Friday nights so I could give my mom a break. I could sit with him, laugh with him, help him, and love him. He was a friend, a confi­dant, and an inspiration.

I won’t write a litany of all the fantasy stuff my head said that he did to me. He was a man doing the best that he could raising six little egos who fought him tooth and nail the whole way. He tried to make us be responsible, contributing members of society. We tried to get everything we could possibly get with as little effort as we could get away with.

I can remember that, as I finished my Fifth Step, my sponsor asked me if I loved my dad. I tried to cop out and said, “I don’t know.” He pushed and said that it wasn’t an “I don’t know” answer, so I said, “No.”

Two weeks later, my dad was my first amends. I said what my sponsor told me to say, “I didn’t show the respect that you deserved when I was growing up.” His response wasn’t spectacular, but that’s not what it was about. It was about me getting right with my dad. My amends needed to put an end to all of my prejudices against my dad. We were on the same plane, the same planet. I could talk with him; he could talk to me. I could be there for him. He had been there for me.

For the past twelve years my dad has been a paraplegic with Multiple Sclero­sis, unable even to feed himself. My wife took care of him every Friday and Sunday night, right up to the end (he died in bed during his afternoon nap). I would stay in his room on Friday nights and sleep on a pull-­out couch. My mom could turn off the monitor and get her­self a good night’s sleep. This was part of my living amends.

I was fine sitting with him and watching football on a Sunday afternoon. We could talk and I could ask for his opinion. At times he used that tone of voice that could make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I didn’t have to lash out or run. I was able to see that something was bothering him, and I could help him if he needed help.

He was a man, a strong man. An ill­ness took his legs, his hands, his back, his neck, and his heart, but it never took his spirit. He still managed the house finances, scanned the ads for deals on groceries, worshipped his God by TV, and did his level best to be the best he could be. He never gave up, never quit—and he showed me just how strong a man can be.

I was able to stand up in front of friends, family, and a great group of God’s kids to give his eulogy. Five years ago, I would have been tortured, resent­ful, shameful, and guilty; now I just get to love him and feel sad. I miss him.

Thank you to the program that saved and changed my life. I could never have done it myself.