Guest Blog — Words of Hope, Strength.

I am 13. It happened a year ago, while I was 12. I have been through what many people my age dread even thinking about. My father attempted to commit suicide. Suicide; yes you heard correctly. You may have also noticed the attempted part.  My father did not succeed at taking his own life.  Yet instead he challenged himself with some of the toughest times a person could create.  He ruined his face, the bullet went right through the roof of his mouth, and shattered in his nose. His tongue-gone, his teeth- only a few could be saved, his jaw-broken to the point of no return. My heart-shattered-I did not know how to handle what life has just thrown at me. No one wrote me an instruction book on my life. Just as I thought I would never meet the real man my father was, this woke him up in a way that astonished me. I would like to believe his suicide attempt was a cry for help, although he nearly took his life. After this accident, I met my father again. He was a complete different man, with a whole new outlook on life, with different goals and dreams.

There were months to his recovery, 6 to be exact. I finally felt like I was living again. My father was always around me, supporting all my choices, and picking me up when I was down.

April 14, 2010 started off as any normal Wednesday. Mom sent me off to school, I continued to succeed in my academics.. I socialized with the best of friends… Until in Spanish class the phone rang, and I was ordered down to the office. As I rounded the corner, I saw my mom and grandfather talking with the assistant, who was a close family friend. My heart raced, and I had no idea what was going on because this wasn’t normal.  My grandpa patted me on the back, and through his tears he told me to get my stuff, and hurry, dad was in the hospital. I did as I was told. I yelled to my teachers I was leaving, because my dad was being rushed to the hospital. I choked hard, but the tears kept pursuing through. What is going on?!?!?!? I was so angry, scared, and sad at the same time. When I got in the car mom reached for my hand, and told me she didn’t think dad was going to make it. WHY?! WHAT?! I needed to scream, holler, deny it. We got to hospital, after what seemed like hours. All of my family was there, crying, balling. Everyone came up to me to hug me. I started crying. I knew he was gone. Just. Like. That. NO!

I had never cried so very much in one day as I had on April 14th. Dad passed away in his sleep. Peacefully. When mom noticed he wasn’t breathing, she called 911, and performed CPR on the man she loved most. She tried, she tried to revive him.

I never thought I would ever be normal again. I didn’t think I would ever laugh, or smile, or enjoy life anymore. After 6 more months, I have proved myself wrong. I have come to believe he was taken from me because he was still in pain, and the greater power believed cure was not meant to be. I had complained there was no time to say goodbyes, but I never say goodbye, but rather see you soon, because I know we will always meet again.

I know my dad will always be watching over me, and protect me, because thats what dad’s do. This has been the hardest thing I will ever live through at my age, but I believe I have proved that if someone like me can get through it, anyone can. Everyone can find the power to live through whatever they please. The grieving is brutal, and can tear you down for a while, but I believe I have found a stronger person in myself. I believe I can live through anything, until the greater power thinks it is time for me to meet my father again. I believe suicide is the wrong answer for everyone, and I am positive anyone can find it in themselves to retrieve help.

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