College Writing 1
I was only a middle school student. I thought they were taking me to school but, clearly that is not where we were going. We went to find him. I could hear the leaves crunch under my brand new boots while I walked to the car. I had this awful feeling. It was like déjŕ vu. It hit me, then and there. This had happened before. Several weeks ago, I woke up. And he was gone. That day, those several weeks ago, my father attempted suicide. Back then, I had no idea what was going on. This time I did. This couldn't be happening again. All I could hear were these little voices inside my head, questioning "Was my father attempting suicide once more? Was it something that I did? Could I have stopped him? Was he just trying to hurt me?"
So there I was, sitting in the backseat of my mom's decade old black Toyota 4runner. We passed my school, that is when I knew something was wrong. Immediately, I switch on my mp3 player to "Hold on" by Good Charlotte. It was the song that got me through my father's first attempt and it's probably the song that will get me through this. The song is about holding on whenever you felt like letting go. It was a song that reached out to people who were on the verge of suicide. I know it sounds stupid but this song saved me. By the time the song was over, we had arrived at my father's apartment complex.
It was harsh outside, the wind thrusting into my face, leaves were flying everywhere. I didn't want to go in, but they could not leave me in the car alone. We got into the complex, and immediately went into the elevator. I just had a bad feeling. We got to his door; all I could hear was the news channel playing obnoxiously loud. My father loved the news. My mother tried turning the door knob but it was locked. She was attacking the door. We could not get it open.
I think my heart broke with hers; this was really happening. My brother dialed 911. What had felt like hours were only a mere seven minutes; the paramedics, the fire department, and the police department arrived. They refused to let anyone into the apartment. That morning, my father's last words were found on a suicide note. The police department felt as if I was too young to see it. My brother was the only one who had read it. I never did ask what it said. I don't think I ever really wanted to know.
They told us my father suffocated himself in the bathtub. Just like that, I lost my father. I didn't even get to say goodbye. I didn't even cry. I watched the coroners carry out my father in a body bag. There I was, sitting on the staircase questioning myself: "Was I not enough to live for? Were we not enough to live for?" I will never know the answer but I do know that everything happens for a reason. I am strong because of this. I am a woman.
