It Was Suicide Season

Dearest Daddy,

It’s been over four years since the last time I saw you. I always miss you but it doesn’t always hurt. Sometimes I’m content with the way my life has played out…but sometimes I have nights like tonight, nights where I can’t think of anything but the way we said goodbye.

I was thirteen and you trusted me too much. Everything between you and mom had a large affect on me. But like a loyal daughter I stood by you, because we both knew she was going down the wrong road and she lashed out at us a plethora of times. When you told me she wanted to leave you, my heart broke.

I remember that like it was yesterday.

We were in the garage, I was waiting on nana so she could take me to church. You were in your “smokin’ britches” and a cigarette was hanging from your lips. Your gray hair and round belly falsely represented your age; you were only 42.

I was sitting with you, and you burst into tears. I was scared, you never cried. Not in front of me. I hadn’t seen you cry since we’d lost our house in that fire three years prior. Stupidly I asked you what was wrong.

“She’s supposed to be my best friend,” you said through sobs, “and she’s breaking my heart.”

I cried as nana pulled up the driveway. I hugged you (barely) and got in the car, going to the only place I’d felt safe anymore: the church you weren’t sure about. That day, our pastor Dave preached about something and now I believe it was a sick omen. He taught about emotional decision-making. One of his examples was a father committing suicide.

I thought very little of it at the time, but that night things became a little clearer. You and mom had gone out, one last chance attempt to fix everything. You came home an hour before she did. When you walked in, you were crying again. I remember you asking us if you’d ever done us wrong, if you’d ever done anything to hurt us. I shook my head and followed you and my brother into the garage. You sat down and cried.

I couldn’t handle it, so I went to take a shower.

When I got out, Eli had my phone. He said he couldn’t find you, so he called you and you didn’t answer. I shrugged it off, thinking you’d just gone to be by yourself for a while. I sat down at the computer. You’d just allowed me to have a Facebook barely a week before and I wanted to post the lyrics to Playing God on my page.

You texted me.

On October 4th, 2009, at exactly 8:41, you sent me a message I’ll never forget. You said you were sorry, that you loved us, that you wanted me to take care of the family. You begged that God have mercy on your soul.

I was shaking. I didn’t know what to do. Mom ran through the front door at that time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just showed her the message. Eli and I sat in your room for a long time, because mom was calling nana and looking for you. None of us knew you were in the basement.

I responded with a long message about how much I love you, and in my naivety I mentioned that people who commit suicide go to hell; it was something I’d learned (not necessarily true) from a preacher at some small Baptist church when I was young. How could I have been so cold?

Nana shows up and me and Eli pile into her van. Mom promised us that she would take care of it, that you’d come out. That everything would be okay.

It wasn’t.

At nana's, Eli and I went upstairs to turn on Spongebob and to distract ourselves. Nana went back to the house, to find you, to stop you. Your mother loves you very much. You texted me again and promised that you loved us.

I said that if you did, you wouldn’t do it.

How selfish of me, to undermine your love for me. I never realized the pain you felt…at least, not until 12:13am on October 5th, when something trembled in my body. I might have hallucinated, but I truly believe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You were dead.

A minute later, we got the call.

Your brother, who was on his way to our house from Birmingham, called to tell my rather deaf grandfather (your step-father) that you were gone. It was dark, Eli was asleep, and I heard his voice through the speakerphone.

“Apparently Danny shot himself in the head.”

I cried all night. I couldn’t stop crying. I’d just lost my father, my best friend, the only person in the world that meant anything to me. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. So I just shut my eyes and held my breath, praying to pass out, to go to sleep.

I learned the next morning that paramedics and cops had been at the church by our house, waiting for the call. I find it ironic, now, that the officer that you seemed to despise most was the one who was there that night, the one who showed you more respect and emotional support than the rest.

When he called in that you shot yourself, the paramedics rushed on scene. They made a mess out of our yard.

They said your heart was still beating. Not that it would have lasted much longer, but I can’t seem to fathom that your heart was still fluttering in your chest.

I was so lost, so scared. I had nothing.

I can’t believe you left me like this. I guess I never realized it, daddy, but it was the beginning of suicide season, and you were the first to go.

I wish you could be here to see me graduate, to walk me down the aisle, to meet your first grandchild. You won’t be, though, and it breaks my heart.

I had to write this letter to you because I need closure. I need to let you go, once and for all. It’s gotten easier but some days it’s bad. It’s really bad. I’m praying that I’ll see you again some day, hopefully I can make my way through Heaven’s gates and into your arms again.

Until then, daddy, just know that I love you. I miss you with everything I am.

Love, your baby girl.