Two months ago today I Buried my father. His death was unexpected, and I still don’t know what happened. Maybe I never will and I’m not sure I’m okay with that.I spent a lot of time fretting over weather or not it may have been suicide. Remembering back to when I was in high school and I found him on the couch one morning before school. He wasn’t dead, no just snoring loudly. Me and my mother had tried to wake him but it was like trying to wake one of those Easter island heads. Unlike in the movie night at the museum they wont call you dum dum and wont pester you for bubble gum. Since i was running late for school already we decided it was best to have her drop me off and if he was still there when she got back to maybe consider calling 911. after she had dropped me off and returned home she had found him on the floor and where he had been laying where empty prescription bottles and his bible. he spent a couple days in an coma in the hospital followed by a couple weeks for pneumonia caused by having his head in the leather couch. we avoided sitting in that spot like it was the plague. Just the memory of what had happened that September morning brought an uneasy feeling. When we had asked him why he was hesitant to tell, and the answer at the time was that someone had been outside the house tapping on the windows, telling him to rob a bank or they would kill his family. If this was a true event it would scare anyone with a family and maybe even some of those who don’t, but alas it was far fetched and didn’t have any supporting evidence. that morning was September 12, three days after my 16th birthday, for a time I sarcastically called it the best gift he ever gave me. I never really understood my father, or appreciated him when he was alive. For a couple months before his death I had ignored his calls and texts, going to visit him only left me feeling sad. I couldn’t remember the last time i had seen him truly happy or smile. I had wanted to try and get dim sum from china town with him like we use to do what I was young. I had texted him a couple days before his body was found asking if they where still opened. He told me he believed they where but had not been there for a long time. I never responded to his message. I had wanted to but instead of replying right away I had just procrastinated. I may have had pure intentions to begin with but ended up tainting it. During the eulogy given by my fathers cousins husband, Joe my father was spoken very highly of. I had trouble believing that he was the man being described. Was there a side of my father I had not seen or perhaps overlooked? If I had been asked to give a eulogy for my father I don’t know what I would have said. Growing up with him had not been easy as his paranoia and delusions become more frequent. no matter what medications he was put on, even if things seemed to be going well for a time it never lasted. I’m not sure i would call my father a good man, at the same time I wouldn’t call myself one either, but perhaps its only my perspective and not the whole picture.
edit: I’m not sure when I found out, it’s been a while since I wrote this, but it was a suicide. I debated over weather or not to write an entire post about it, but decided against it. If you are feeling suicidal thoughts please seek help, you are loved by people, and things can get better but Only if you let them.