Dad: I love u Jamie

Me: I love you too

Dad: R u ok

Me: Yes

Dad: Ok honey

The screaming matches between you and mom were such a norm - such a norm that they were okay. Seeing my friends out with both of their parents all the time and realizing it was a rare occurrence for our family was so normal that it was okay. Spending the majority of my time with mom because you were either sleeping or not around was so normal that it was okay. Hearing you talk about the government and witches and things that were scary and not real was so normal that it was okay. All of those things were okay because when you were around we had fun. But the thing is, everything that I now know is not normal was so normal to me that it was always OK - it shouldn't have been.

And now I understand that it was never okay.

I was ten years old when mom and I went on a vacation that turned into a staycation. Ten years old when I realized I didn't know when I was going to see you again. I was twelve when I found out the truth about you - your addiction to OxyContin, your multiple failed attempts at rehab, your incarceration. The man that made everything in my life seem so okay when it wasn't. The man who was my best friend when he was there for me. The man who I loved with every aspect of myself turned out to be just the opposite of everything I thought I ever knew. He became the man who was on drugs. The man who didn't love me enough to get his life back together.

I tried to reach out. I tried to show my love and show that things could be okay again if you just got better. I tried to be the reason you cleaned up, but I wasn't good enough and that thought killed me from the inside out. It took any ounce of innocence I had left in me away. It changed me, and it changed the way I looked at you.

I became someone I didn't recognize when it came to you. I was so blinded by pain and sadness. Shutting you out seemed so easy. I spent so much of my time trying to convince myself that silence was the loudest cry and that you would hear it one day. I thought that tough love would help you... Because regardless of it all, I still loved you with every aspect of myself and more.

For nine long years it was so easy to pretend like you weren't there. It was so easy not to answer your phone calls and text messages - when you tried to reach out, that is. I didn't want to be known as the girl with the messed up life, so I didn't tell people about you. I'm starting to realize that by not being around me, you had more influence on me than I think you would have, had things been otherwise. Your example, the constant pain, the questions wondering how you were in the back of my head always, you were never physically around but you were always there. You turned me into the person I am. You pushed me to become this strong. You pushed me to care so much.

Knowing you were somewhere was always enough for me. It was enough for me because it meant that I could still hope that one day you would be able to be a part of my life again. It meant that one day you might show me how much you loved me by making a move to better yourself. It meant that one day I might be able to have my father back. One day I might be able to meet the man that everyone told me about, the one that I never really got to meet because the narcotics took him away.

Your addiction consumed your life, but it also consumed mine. Your illness took control and it stole you from me; it stole you from us all.

On Thursday, August 18, 2016 I received the phone call that I had never in a million years expected to receive. But for as unexpected as it was, it was just as expected.

On Friday, August 26, 2016 I accepted the condolences of tons of people whose lives were touched by you.

On Saturday, September 4, 2016 I brought you flowers and read your name on a headstone for the very first time.

On Tuesday, September 6, 2016 I found those text messages from you.

I spent so much of my life hoping and thinking and waiting for everything to be okay. To really be okay one day; the okay thats actually normal, not the okay that I grew up with. I wish I could have had that okay on earth with you.

It still doesn't seem real.

I wish I would have told you how much I cared a lot more than I did.

I love you, Dad, I always have and I always will.