A year ago today, my father overdosed on oxycontin and alcohol and went to bed and never got up again.

I was 7 years sober at the time.

I tried to have this conversation with him half a dozen times and I know where you are and my heart breaks for you. You’re saying all the right words and you know all the right things--you know it’s a decision only she can make and you know it’s not your responsibility and you just want her to see the light that you saw and realize there’s a whole life out here that she’s not living.

I truly hope that She does.

My dad didn’t. I’m still making peace with that.

With love,

A sister in recovery.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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