My father's suicide
Today is Father's Day and as usual I am reminded of my own father. I am reminded of how he took his own life almost 30 years ago. He left behind my mother and his children. I was the one who found his body. I was only a child. He and my mother were arguing because he wouldn't get off the drugs he was constantly abusing. She told him she didn't want him around if he was not going to stop. He asked her if she really wanted him to leave and she told him to do whatever he wanted. He shot himself. I guess at that moment that's what he wanted. I'll never be able to get that image of his slumped body with the blood gushing out of his head out of my mind. I'm sure he didn't think I would be the one to find him, but nonetheless I did. That was the only time I cried for a long, long time. I was in shock but my mother thought I didn't love him and that I was happy he was gone. I really wasn't. A few times I did break down and cry when she would go off on me about how I drove him to it and reminded me of how I wished him dead a few times. But I was a kid and of course didn't really mean it. I just wasn't close with my father. He didn't show his emotions well. I really did love him and didn't realize how much until a long time later. After he died it was a big secret how he died. Only immediate family and my school knew. I couldn't tell my friends. Even afterward when the school counselors tried to talk to me about it I couldn't admit how he died even though I knew they knew.
The scariest part is that I'm so much like my father. I often wonder if I'm destined to do the same thing. Sometimes I just wonder what the purpose of all this is. I'm lost, just like my Dad. Happy Father's Day.