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When I was 13, I came home and found my father dead. The closest man in my life. I was a daddy's girl. I loved the world and it was bright and happy before he died. (Want it from the begining, you'll have to wait, but not long, promise)



We were in the middle of moving and looking for another house, instead of the little place we were renting at the time. My dad had just moved up to Sioux Falls with my mother and I, and my brother Nick was going to be moving up with us that very weekend. I woke up thinking that it was a normal Friday, nothing really specail except that after school my father was going to take me out for a treat. I had recieved a good grade on a test. The school I was at, I was struggling. They had placed me in all advanced classes, when I wasn't someone that should be in them at all. But somehow, that day at school, I made a friend, and actually laughed. I'd been there sense Halloween, and it was January 19. Kinda scarry to tell the truth. That long with out talking to anyone. Being a complete loner. And yet, at my old school, I used to be a cheerleader, and odd one, but people liked me. Even though I didn't always like them. And I had friends too, lots of them, all awsome people. But here, no one would talk to me, and if they looked at me, they laughed and even one day tried to cut my hair! I screamed and just about beat the shit out of them. But, that night was saposed to be a good night for once. The bus ride home didn't seem as bad as it had for so long. When I finally got off at my stop, I ran home, nearly falling on my ass, it was really icy and cold out. But I was so happy, I wanted to tell my Dad of how good my day had been. As I got to the front door and pulled out my house keys, I heard a noise....and weird nose that I never heard in my life. I was confused. I put my ear to the door and unlocked it. The noise was so loud when I opened the door, let alone there was and odd smell, I had no clue what it was. I automaticly set down my saxaphone case and backpack and yelled for my Dad. Nothing. I went upstairs, and grabbed a towle. I started to think that the noise was from the smoke detectors. We were used to them being really sensitive and going off all the time. It wasn't any of them. I went into my Mother and Father's bedroom, he wasn't in there. I checked every room in that house. I'd looked in the garage 3 or 4 times without seeing him. The car was there, but he wasn't. I was starting to get a little scared. I ran around the house for a few minutes trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. I found this little white box in the laundry room. I had no clue what it was. I tried to turn it off. It came right back on. I couldn't figure it out. Well, I took one last sweep of the house, I finally went out into the garage instead of standing in the door way looking in there. It was poorly lit. When I walked in there, I saw my fathers jump suit and his cap....then I realized that that was my dad on the little step stool. I ran around the back of the car over to him. I stopped when I got closer. Then I just finished walking to him. I can never get his face out of my mind. Icy. Dead. But I didn't think that at the time. I layed my ear to his chest. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought that I heard his heart beating. I was so young and nieve. It was my heart I was hearing. Not his. I ran inside and called 911. Most of that conversation I dont remember. After that, it's only trying to blow air into his body, trying to lift him to the ground. I couldn't. He was too heavy for me. The ambulence came. They took me inside. I went upstairs and called my Mother at work. She was panicing. That's all that I can remember. By that time I was starting to feel odd. There were deadly levels of carbon dioxid in the house. I found out that's what the smell was. I didn't know. I was only 13. Not even a month into being 13 either. I remember seeing my mother showing up crying. A friend from work coming with her. Her friend taking my poor dog Booboo Bear to the animal hospital to make sure he was ok. He'd been in there all day. Poor baby. He was ok though. I sat in the back seat of my mother car and punched the back of the seat until my nuckles were just about ready to bleed. I didn't know what to make of any of what was going on. When we went to the hospital.....we went and saw them trying to bring my father back. My mother screamed for them to stop, she nearly fainted. I caught her and set her down on a chair. He was dead. There was no bringing him back. The nurses wanted to check me out. I'd been in that house for a long time, and they wanted to make sure that I was ok. I wouldn't let them touch me. My Mother didn't have the curage nor life in her to call anyone. So I called my family member. It was so hard. Calling them....saying that my father was dead. And while they were crying or screaming, I couldn't cry. I was stone. There wasn't anything alive in me. I was dead inside. When we finally left, it was ice cold in the house when we got back. All the windows were open. All of my mother friends from work braught food over. I never ate a piece. It took me months from that day before I was able to eat by myself without someone forcing food down my throat. My Aunty Dee came the next day. It was heart wrenching. We went and signed the papers for buring my father. I had to write everything out for my mother. She couldn't write anything. I had to sign all the papers while my Aunty Dee held my mother. That Saturday or Sunday my brother finally got the news from Barry about my father. He came up and was a wreck. He'd never had the chance to see my father. Him and dad just got done fixing their relationship. They'd had a hard time getting along. I held everyone up in that family. I didn't go back to school for over a week. Hardly slept or even ate. My Aunty Dee and Bonny shoved food in my mouth at every chance. I was stone from that day until I was in the middle of my freshman year of high school when I was rapped, and all that time that my family was in shambles, I held them all up. I was the only one with my head on. I never once cried. Not until the night of my suicide.