In my most recent post, I described my dad in a little more detail to you, mainly what he was like before he got involved with meth. The reason he ever started doing meth in the first place is because of some financial troubles he was having while living on the farm. Again, I wonder if we hadn’t moved, if we had stayed living in the city, or if he had been financially successful as a farmer if none of this would have happened and he would still be alive today. But I know I can’t keep thinking that way.
My dad had some modest savings from his careers as a teacher and a caretaker, but the lawyer fees for the divorce were extremely expensive and left him with almost nothing. Around that time my dad’s father, my grandfather, passed away of old age, leaving an inheritance to my father. He used this money to purchase the farm and to stay afloat for a few years while he tried to figure out the business side of farming, and home-schooled me.
My dad was a smart man, but business was just not his thing. No matter how hard he worked or what he tried, the costs of living on the farm always seemed to outweigh what he was able to earn. He had never owned and managed so much property before, and it was more stressful and difficult than he had ever imagined.
I remember him looking over bills with red letters on them at the kitchen table, running his hands through his hair, his brow furrowed with anxiety. I remember wishing I could get a job back then to help him out. I loved my dad so much and hated seeing him upset.
I think the thing that pushed him over the edge was when he couldn’t afford to pay the electricity bill and our lights went out. At night I cried because I was scared of the dark and couldn’t have my nightlight.
The next day dad went into the city, and came back with a carton of ice cream and was smiling and happy, saying the electricity would be back on and he had solved all our problems.
But our real problems were only about to begin.