I think its fair to warn you, this isn’t an easy post. It isn’t pretty. It may be a trigger for some of you. In this I am going to share my experience with death. Not my death, but my Father’s. I will go into as much detail as I’m able to write.
I had a fairly normal first 14 years of life. My parents split when I was barely 3. It wasn’t an ugly break up but it wasn’t pretty either. Again, I was barely 3 so what do I know?… Nothing really.
I do know that since that day I was raised by my dad. It was him and I. We did everything together. I guess you could say he was my best friend. He did my hair and painted my nails. He did his best… ya know being a dude raising a little girl.
I never really wanted anything. I had a decent family. My biological mother is a joke, basically never in the picture. Lots of unfulfilled promises, and visits that I packed for but never happened. I say all this to stress, I was raised by my dad and I loved him more than anything in the world.
November 10, 2008
My 14th birthday. A few family members came over for gifts and cake. That night my dad got my the new iPod Touch as my gift. Like dude, that thing was so cool. Like an iPod Touch! Anyway….
That night he stayed up loading music onto it, and getting it all set up. Yes, even back then I sucked with technology. I got up on the morning of the 11th to go to school.
He had been up the entire night…..
I left for school. Not knowing what a normal day would become.
I came home from school, saw dad was asleep. Or at least I assumed he was, I mean he was up all night. So i did my home work, made my plan for my party that weekend for my birthday with friends. I needed to get the food and drinks and decorations.
I was on the phone with my bff Lyndsay talking about the party and then decided to hang up to wake dad up to go to the store… it was the plan after all.
I walked into his bedroom. It was dark, the tv was off and the curtains were closed. He was laying with his back to the door, on the far side on the bed.
I remember walking up to him and tapping him on the shoulder…… Nothing
I remember shoving him kinda…… Nothing
I remember saying out loud, “Okay, not funny, wake up.”
I ripped his blanket back and saw he had a bruised chest, and had peed the sheets. That’s when I knew.
He wasn’t waking up because he just wasn’t ever going to again.
I walked out of his room, grabbed the phone, called Lyndsay back kind of yelled at her that I was calling 911 …. hung up called 911.
It took them maybe 5 minutes to get to my house, I lived on a main street in my home town. The EMT walked in, I pointed down the hall…. Next came the really tall bald cop. He started asking me questions, getting my statement. I called every family member I could, and Not one answered the damn phones.
Finally, I’m not sure how much longer, one by one every started showing up.
I remember it as a haze. Blurry, and silent. When I think back to the 911 Call, its silent, but I remember talking and crying. I remember the cop asking me questions, but it is silent in my memories.
The rest of that night is a daze except my cousin Jessica , who also lived next door…. taking me to her house so the corner could take my fathers lifeless body out of my house. I remember looking out the window.
I remember seeing the body bag. Black. Zipped up.
Dads legs sticking up, due to his fetal sleeping position and Rigor Mortis.
I saw them remove his body from our house.
This year will be 11 years since his death, and although it doesn’t come to mind every day…. its not something I speak about much or really ever.
At 14, I found out what its like to lose faith in God.
To lose my world all at once.
My life has forever changed due to my fathers death.
Following his death is briefly detailed in the post titled 4 Years Of Hell.
And that is truly what it was like.
There’s not many tears, but I still have anger. At who or what I’m not even sure.
I do know, that at 14 years old, I lost my dad to a heart attack in his sleep. He went peacefully. At 14 years old, I learned what death was.