By Grace Howard
Anti-villain: a character who has good intentions but uses questionable methods to achieve them.
When you hear the word anti-villain, most people think of Thanos from Avengers or Killmonger from Black Panther, but I think of my dad. My dad was the best person I knew. He was my best friend and favorite person, but that was only when he was sober. Sober dad was my real dad. He was the dad who listened to my 20-minute stories, played hour-long Uno tournaments, rode our bikes to the park every night after dinner and was the most loving, caring person I had ever met. On the other hand, when he was drinking, I didn’t even recognize the person I loved the most, he was a villain in my mind.
Growing up, I was stereotyped as having the “perfect family.” Three kids, two parents and a yellow lab who never fought and all loved each other. People see us as belonging to a country club, having a nice house and going on vacations yearly. Behind that, the part people didn’t see was a dad missing the swim meets because he was too busy “golfing.” I hated being in the nice house because no matter how big it was, you could always hear the fighting, and behind all the vacations, it was only my mom, siblings and I because, in reality, it was actually a vacation away from my dad. Behind the facade of a perfect family with two parents who love each other was actually two parents who loved each other.
Having a parent with an addiction is never easy. I had to always be on. As a 10-year-old, I knew if my dad was “nice” dad or “mean” dad just by knowing where he was in the house. I could walk into my house and immediately know if I needed to be on edge or if I could relax. My favorite time of the day was always the morning. My dad would wake me up every morning for school, make my lunch and breakfast, and then drive me up to my bus stop. I always knew he would be sober in the mornings.
My dad went to rehab six times, and every time he went I knew the coming few months would be my favorite. He would come back as the dad I have always known, sober 24 hours a day, and being his funny, amazing cook and fun self. In the back of my mind, I always knew it would end at some point. I knew I could come home from school one random day, and I would just be able to feel it as soon as I walked in the door.
In 2019, my parents got a divorce. My mom and I moved out of my childhood home and into a new house with just the two of us. After they got divorced, I never really saw my dad. Neither of us had a license, and I just didn’t want to be with someone I didn’t even recognize. I would still text him all the time about my silly little stories or our hometown sports teams, he was still always my best friend.
He ended up moving into a condo in 2021, and I got my license, so I would try to see him every couple of weeks. He would cook my favorite meals, and we would watch the cooking channel or a sports game all night. Even if he was drunk, I would still hang out with him because I knew he needed it.
On May 24, 2021, I got a call from one of my best friends who lived in the condo next to my dad’s, and she told me our dogs were out. I drove over there and put the dogs back in the house. Two minutes later, they got out again, so I went into my dad’s house and saw him passed out on the couch. I got mad, so I took the dogs and went home. A day went by, and no one heard from him. He didn’t text me about the dogs, but I figured he was too scared to tell me he lost them.
On May 26, two days after I took the dogs, I was taking my normal after-school nap when my mom came into my room, turned my light on and woke me up. She didn’t have to say a single thing; I just knew he was gone. My mom told me that her friend had gone to check on my dad, and when she got there, she found him in the same position I saw him in, passed away. I didn’t know what to do. I told my mom that I needed to be alone, and she did just that. I called my best friend to tell her, and she immediately drove to my house and just sat in silence with me. Five minutes of silence later, I got up, walked outside without putting my shoes on, and walked a lap around my neighborhood barefoot. I called the people I wanted to call, and within a few minutes, all of my friends were over at my house. That’s all I needed: distraction.
I lost my best friend. That is all I could think about. The denial hit immediately. I didn’t cry for five days. I called his phone, and I talked about him like he was still alive. I went crazy. I don’t think I slept more than five hours across those five days. I went to school and appeared to live my life normally, if you can imagine. My friends were very worried about me, but in my mind, it was my only choice. I knew the second I accepted it that I was going to lose myself in the process.
It ended up happening, I finally accepted that he was gone. I didn’t go as crazy as I thought, but don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t myself either. I closed myself off, slept at all hours of the day and hated school. I was distracted for three months before it got to this point. It was summer, so I wasn’t home most of the time. I spent all day, every day with my friends, which is exactly what I wanted and what I still believe I needed.
Once I finally settled into accepting it, it was like he died all over again. I relived the day in my mind over and over, still keeping up a fake face to my friends because I didn’t want anyone to know I was still upset. I figured it had been four months, and they would tell me to get over it, so I didn’t let anyone know I was struggling other than my best friend Stacie, but even still, there were times I didn’t want to bother her or anyone with my grief.
I still texted his phone when I wanted to tell him something. One day, someone texted back. They had given away his number. I felt like the world had just crashed down on top of me. I couldn’t call him anymore to hear his voicemail, just to hear his voice. It felt like I had finally lost him. His phone number, my last form of communication to him, was given to a girl in the city next to us who just so happens to share the same name as my sister, Emily.
After you lose someone that close in your life, everything reminds you of them. I can’t look at a slushy without thinking of all our bike rides to 7/11. I can’t look at eggs without thinking about my favorite thing he would make me for breakfast, fried eggs. This happens to me every day with so many other random things. Growing up, I was attached to his hip, so everything reminds me of him. There is always a memory or story to go with it.
I have never gotten to a part of grief that other people have, not wanting to talk about him. I know people who refuse to talk about a loved one who passed away, but for me, I bring him up as much as I can. I never want to make him out to be a villain because he wasn’t. He was only a villain when he drank, and when he drank, he wasn’t my dad. So I talk about my dad as much as I can, not the other person he became, because that’s not who he is.
After losing my dad, I have learned that people won’t understand unless it has happened to them. People expect you to bounce back after a few months, when, in reality, grief is never something that goes away. I am stuck with it for the rest of my life.
My dad will be my best friend in every universe and the ones after that. Everyone that I meet will know exactly who he was – an amazing person with a disease he couldn’t get rid of, because that is exactly who my dad is. My own personal superhero.
