February 19, 2012

Just over thirteen years ago, my father completed suicide. It was easily the worst day of my life. It started off like any other day; I woke up, got some cleaning done around the house, and my mom called. My mom called to say that they were on their way to visit. I was excited for the visit, but didn't think anything of it.

I still remember their visit very vividly. My mom and step-dad knocked on the door, they'd even brought their dog, Belle. My mom gave me a hug and my step-dad hugged me from behind; which I thought was a little odd. My mom whispered in my ear, "your father killed himself, last night." My mind was a whirl, I didn't understand what she had said. My first thought was her dad, my grandfather, but he'd been dead for years.

Then it clicked. My father had finally done it; he'd taken his own life. I knew he had made attempts in the past, but never thought he would actually go through with it. The last time I had seen my father was at my wedding, almost 7 months prior. My mind was still racing, but now it was racing with purpose. I needed to get back to Michigan and help my family. My first task was to buy plane tickets from Florida to Michigan.

My mom offered to buy one ticket, and we (my husband and I) could buy the other ticket. I asked my husband if that would work and he looked at me, deadpan, and said he couldn't go. His exact words were, "I have to work." There it was, my second heart break in less than an hour. My father was dead and I wasn't even a priority to my husband.