What happened today was not merely a quarrel;it was like opening a box of memories that had never been properly shut.Today, I did not simply argue with my seventy-four-year-old father,widowed and bound still to alcohol;I also confronted the man of my entire childhood and adolescence,the one who carved deep scars into my being.“I am not that little girl. I am a woman, free and strong.”“This is not my fault. It does not belong to me.”“I protect myself. I care for myself. I step back.”And another thing:this strange grief is easier to cross when it is named,as I have done now.For naming it is recognisingthat you are already saying goodbye, even while he breathes.This is my mantra —or my attempt at one—: “I, Vani, am a daughter, not a saviour.My life does not sink with my father’s.”“A Mourning Without End”Today I wish to share something very personal.Something that hurts,yet may help others living through the same.My father is dependent on alcohol.He has been so all his life.My mother lived with this for fifty years…she was a profoundly unhappy woman.She always told me so.And he never truly loved her,for one who loves does not destroy.We grew up in a home of shouting,quarrels, infidelities, violence;we drank in the poison of a place where love was absent.Today my mother is gone.She died a few months ago.And I find myself alone before my father,who drinks each day, ever earlier, ever stronger.It is like watching someone die little by little.And this is a strange mourning.Not the mourning of real death,which, though painful, closes.It is a grief in life:I watch him fade each day,yet he is still here, still calls me,still shouts at me when drunk.And I… I do not know how to help him.And the truth is, I have understood:I cannot save him.My mother spent her entire life in that fight, and lost.I do not want to repeat her fate.So today I have learned to set boundaries:– To speak only when he is sober.– Not to argue when he drinks,for there is no one at the wheel.– To guard my peace,even if he does not understand.And I know I am not alone.Many sons, daughters, partners or siblingslive trapped in the same prison:trying to save the alcoholic.Let me tell you from my experience:it is not your task,not your mission,not your sentence.I too find myself thinking dark things,wishing one day it might all end at once.But I have understood that this does not mean I hate my father.It means I am exhausted;I want the pain to stop,I want to cease living in this endless mourning.So today I close this chapter with my own mantra, my shield:> “I, Vani, am a daughter, not a saviour.My life does not sink with my father’s.”If someone listening is living something similar,please hold on to this:you have the right to care for yourself,to keep your distance,to refuse the sentence of those who stayed trapped.Thank you for listening.I hope my story helps you give words to your own.I read letters sent to mailto:[email protected]