Death, despair led to alcohol abuse, but Columbia’s Providence Home helped me embrace life

Most of my life, grief crept in when least expected, like after big victories on the football field. A congratulatory slap on the back from my dad, who never missed a game, would feel more like a punch to the gut.

I began to understand why in December 2015.

That’s when my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors gave him six months. He lived for 27 days. I spent every single one of those days by his side, really getting to know him. I learned my dad, a Vietnam veteran, suffered from PTSD and that he experienced the brutal Tet Offensive. It explained why he drank so much when I was little. When at last I got up the nerve to ask him if my hazy memories of him beating me – knocking me unconscious as a toddler – were real, he confirmed the worst. His contrition and sorrow made forgiveness easy.

It all made sense now, why I recoiled from his happy slaps after my games, and just when I finally knew my dad and loved him wholeheartedly, he was gone.

Only months later I lost my stepdad. He was a trusted friend and gave me someone to emulate, and not long after that my best friend lost his father. Two days later my friend committed suicide.

At this point, I was married with three great kids and a job that provided us our dream mountaintop house.

I had everything, but felt destitute.

I had never been a “partier.” At best, I was a casual drinker – nursing a beer while watching a ballgame. I was a youth pastor, a coach, a dad, but death transformed me into an isolated drunk.

I am sharing my story because I don’t fit the stereotype of men in transitional housing. I didn’t grow up on the streets. I didn’t do drugs. I was married and a well-established business professional. I am a college graduate who earned both academic and athletic scholarships.

I had everything to lose, and I lost it all.

After only a few years, when there was no hope of reconciliation with my family, I purposely drove my car off the interstate into a grove of trees. The vehicle was totaled. I walked away without a scratch.

It became evident that God didn’t want me yet.

And so, with the help of a friend and godly counselor, I arrived at Providence Home in Columbia in 2019. I resisted. “I’m better than those men,” I argued. “I’m not like them.”

What I discovered here was there is no “them versus me.” It’s only us. All of us broken, wanting to heal, and asking for a second chance. All equally beloved by God who demonstrates His mercy in magnificent ways when you let Him.

Today, I am the program director at Providence Home – ministering to the very men I thought beneath me.

It was these men who huddled around me when my 21-year-old son was killed in a car crash last year. This time, I surrounded myself with support, including that from my new wife, who just happens to be my college sweetheart. This time, I drank in their love and God’s promises for me – and for my son.

Now, in the midst of despair, it’s joy that creeps in.

My life today is nothing like I imagined it would be. But like the song says, I am grateful for the “broken road.” It led me to Providence Home. And now it’s my life’s mission to help others leave here like I did – no longer trying to escape life but prayerfully and healthily embracing whatever life brings.

Mike Byars has served as program director for Providence Home since 2020. He lives with his wife, Stacy, in Batesburg-Leesville. He is a 1993 graduate of Wofford College.