My father was an alcoholic. He loved his children very much, and we were very wanted, he would have killed for us.
He didn't drink at all when my mother met him as a teenager, his father was a violent alcoholic, and he wasn't going to be like him.
He didn't start drinking until his mid to late 20's with kids already.
He could be very controlling and angry when drinking, thought nothing of driving his family around drunk.
The accident that left himself and a sibling with severe injuries and life long scars escalated the drinking, the guilt I presume.
He still drove us around after that.
My mother was powerless to stop him, she was worn down and controlled.
I didn't understand why I would get in trouble for fetching him a drink at 4/5 as he was confined with injuries to the couch and shouting that he just needed one to feel better. I was just trying to help.
I didn't understand why he would be sobbing and hugging us one night, punishing and shouting at us the next, and there was no way to escape. I didn't understand the he would stop drinking periodically towards the end and get convulsions, it was terrifying.
My mother always said, if you had just known him when he was younger, he was nothing like this, he was the life of the party, everyone wanted to be his friend.
I believed her, I loved him very much, and I could see he wasn't a bad or evil man. He had no friends by the time I was a teenager.
He promised me one night, about 8 years old maybe,giving a worker a lift to the pub instead of home, that we were only dropping him off, he wouldn't go in. He swore.
But I could almost see his internal struggle when we goth there, he couldn't keep his promise, I do believe he wanted to, but the pub won and I sat in the car outside for hours waiting.
I learned very young, that you couldn't help an addict, I nearly broke myself as a child trying to do everything to help or make him happy, my mother was miserable and I spent my life trying to fix it.
We were taught to lie, to teachers, family, don't let them know, say he was in hospital for a heart condition, tell the police he hadn't been drinking..
He died when I was a teenager, at 50, my mother finally got the courage to leave with the kids, he couldn't understand why or live without his children around. He was heartbroken, but didn't stop drinking. Visiting him was so difficult, and his children not wanting to see him was devastating.
She found him dead on the floor of the house a few months later.
She is a different woman now, free and successful and not down trodden.
But it has affected every relationship I have had, I swore my children would never experience anything like it, but also I have chosen people with similar traits.
Happy to say though my children have not had those experiences as I have cut the relationships off at the first sign, maybe too soon, or an over reaction, but better safe.
My siblings over 20 years after his death are still dealing with the aftermath also, some have addictions, some blame my mother, some are in abusive relationships, some blame themselves as they were NC with him when he died, in the hope it would push him to get help, which of course it never did.
It is not easy being the child of an alcoholic, I have stories people are horrified by or they look at me like I am making them up because they are so crazy.
I understand you love him, and children and a happy family is something you ache for, and I would understand if you make the choice to go ahead, the things we do for love and in hope. I just wanted to give you a snapshot of the effect it has on children, even if he is not as bad as my father, I know no child that was happy with an alcoholic parent. And it's not something you can hide from them, or protect them from.
And often the cycle carries on down the generations.