Page 75 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

“You’re always welcome to have therapy with someone here as well, if you need. Your emotions are just as valid, and sometimes it’s hard to work through it all. Your dad may have a substance addiction, but it’s your problem, too.”

I’ve never thought about it that way. It’s always been what Dad needs, or Jamie, or anyone else but me. It’s never been a problem, but more of an obligation and maybe that might make a difference to change the way I think about it.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Are you ready to see him now?”

Nodding, Miles motions for me to follow him out of the office and after walking down several hallways, a bank of windows appears, looking out into a gorgeous, landscaped area complete with vegetable gardens.

I spot my dad before Miles even opens the door.

“Can I just go out there?”

“Absolutely. He has about an hour before he’s due for a checkup. I’ll find you when it’s time.”

Stepping out into the sunny, late summer day, I head towards the very skinny man swinging on the wide swing, facing a series of bird feeders. He turns his head my way when my steps crunch on the short gravel path nearby and immediately bursts into tears.

“Hey, Dad.”

He stands and I hold out my arms. “Son.” He hugs me while he cries, and he doesn’t need to tell me what the tears are for. I understand and shed some of my own.

“I didn’t mean to just cry all over you like that.” He wipes at his tears as he steps out of my arms, and I reach for the tissues I stuffed in my pocket.

“Don’t be. I think we both have a lot to talk about and it’s okay to cry.”

Dad takes the tissue I hand him, and dabs at his eyes. He’s lost so much weight, a light wind could blow him away, and after he resumes his spot on the garden swing, I join him.

“You always liked the birds. I remember you had that big feeder with the spinner thing to keep the squirrels out when I was a kid.”

“Yeah. I like to watch them. They’re so…I don’t know. Cool with the feathers and the tiny feet.” Dad huffs. “Tiny feet. What the hell am I even saying?”

“That you like bird feet. Hey, I won’t judge, Dad.” My tone is teasing, and he looks over at me with fresh tears in his eyes.

“Hey…don’t cry.”

“I’ve missed your entire life, Griff. You’re my son, and I missed it all. How do I even make this right?”

Taking his hand in mine, I squeeze it and don’t let go. “This is a good start. You do what the counselors and doctors say and work at being sober. That’s what you do right now.”

“You never gave up on me.”

“I couldn’t. You’re all I have, Dad.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat.

“Don’t hide how much pain I caused you, Griffy. I made you grow up too fast, and you did things no kid ever should.”

While that may be true, things could have been a lot worse. At least I knew he still loved me.

“You were never abusive or mean. You drank to escape the pain and sadness of Mom leaving.” Dad inhales sharply, and I squeeze his hand again. “I don’t blame you. It hadto hurt an awful lot, and while I may have been a kid, I was aware enough to know your actions weren’t because you didn’t love me.”

“When did you get so smart?”

He has a small smile, and it lifts my heart to see his eyes finally not clouded by alcohol and to know he really means that. He’s proud of me.

“Well, I’ve always liked having my nose in a book, and I went to university.”

“I missed your graduation.”

“Technically, yes, but I also didn’t tell you.”

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