My dad died on January 24.

When I made it a goal to start posting more consistently again, I never expected those to be the first words I typed. I planned to talk about my goals for the year, maybe do a wrap-up of last year, but then my dad died. So here we are.

My dad and I did not always have the best relationship. Long time friends (and readers) will know that I identify as an adult child of alcoholics, largely because my dad drank throughout my childhood. He could be mean and a bully. But he was always there: consistent, hardworking, loyal, loving, and honest (sometimes honest to a fault, a family trait).

My dad was my stepdad, and I can’t remember a time he wasn’t in my life. Whatever we needed, he would try to find a way to provide. Whenever I moved to a new place, he would visit and find things that needed fixing or correcting. He was always moving, always repairing, always looking out for us. We had a falling out in 2016 that led to me finding a new place to live. And even though we still weren’t on the best terms, I called him to look at houses with me, knowing I couldn’t move into a place that didn’t pass his rigorous standards. It was in that way we also repaired our relationship. His love language was definitely acts of service, and nothing said I love you like asking for his help or receiving it.

He asked me once several years ago why I decided to forgive him. He had made amends to me, apologizing for his behavior. He had written me more than one letter of deepfelt remorse. In 2023, when I interviewed him as part of my genealogical research, he apologized again. Back when he asked me, I think in 2016 or so, I told him the truth, which I still believe. I know he tried his best. I know that even the harsh criticism and the “you should have known better”s were coming from a place of love, from a place of wanting what was best for me, wanting me to know how to take care of myself and not be taken advantage of. I know that he was doing it the best way he knew how as a man who was given no other tools from his own parents. And I told him I knew that because I had to face my own shortcomings as a parent, of the ways I tried to be better and do better than my parents, but still wound up making mistakes, sometimes overcorrecting, and having to make amends to my own child for my own behavior, my own outbursts of anger, my own mistakes in judgment. I had to face that sometimes I, too, have made my daughter feel like she was not enough.

My dad was not perfect. I will be the first to admit it (okay, maybe third after him and my mom). But he loved us fiercely, totally, and with all his heart. He did his best to take care of us, and I am supremely grateful to have had the best parts of him in my life and that I got to spend his last days with him before he died. I love him and will miss him, and I’m glad I got the opportunity to tell him that before he passed away.

Cornelius Alan Briddell, July 24, 1955 – January 24, 1955

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Every time I have shared the news of my dad’s passing, people ask what they can do to help or to tell them if I need anything. My friend put together a fundraiser for us as most of our needs are material. The best way to help right now, besides donating directly, is to share the fundraiser with others. Thank you.