This is my dad.

I've never really shared my personal life story anywhere. What I've shared publicly on social, it has always been the light hearted parts humour, small moments, the easy things. But this feels too important to keep quiet. I've never been someone who spoke openly about my dad or his struggles, unless you were very close to me. Not because I didn't love him, but because addiction carries quiet eight of shame, confusionm and heartbreak that's hard to explain unless you've lived it. My dad was, and always will be, a beautiful funny, charming, loving man. A father, a friend, a brother, a son. Addiction didn't define him. But it did take hold of him. And after a long battle, it took his life. An overdose. Grief is not one feeling. It's sadness, heartbreak, anger beyond words, confusion, love, and sometimes even peace, all existing at the same time. I feel broken. and I feel grateful. I feel devastated. and I feel certain that if my dad could have chosen differently he would have. I know he would have chosen me, in every lifetime. And I know he would be proud of the woman I am today. Addiction is not a moral failure. It is not a lack of love. It is not a choice people wake up wanting to make. It's complicated, relentless, and devastating not just for those living with it, but for everyone who loves them. If there's anything I hope comes from sharing this, it's awareness, compassion and honestly. Check in on your people. Love loudly, but without boundaries. Let go of embarrassment, it keeps too many stories silent. And if you're struggling. or know someone who is, you're not alone. Support is available in Canada. The Drug & Alcohol Helpline offers free, confidential support 24/7 at 1-800-565-8603. This is my dad. Even when I didn't understand his choices, I never stopped loving him. And I never will.