My cell phone rings. Is my partying brother really calling me in the middle of the night? He knows I am three hours later.
Dude, Peter I am sleeping.
The cops just came to my house… Dad… hung… himself.
Confusion, paralyzed, shock, total despair or whatever adjective that describes total hell. Screams & hysterics come belting out of my lungs. The type that you only see in trashy horror movies.
I must be dreaming. What the f–k is happening?
I blindly walk downstairs to let my girl Koda go outside. It’s pouring down rain and at this moment the water hits my skin I realize that I am not in a dream.
I must be awake but how can this be true? I just saw Dad days ago when he flew out to see me for my birthday. We were laughing, he was telling me about all his plans for the house and his next trip to Mexico. How did I not know on our phone call this afternoon? I didn’t say I love you when we hung up…
The next few vague hours consisted of finding plane tickets home, hastily packing, throbbing tears and pockets of numb stares. Mentally I am in shock.
What happened over the next week is a daze of drama and full-blown depression. Second-guessing my every word & action I had with my daddy. What did I miss? How did I not know? Who really was my father?
My Dad was the guy with the “Take it easy” mantra. Living life to its fullest. Always telling me to not worry and inspiring us all by the way he carried himself and lived his life.
How could someone so happy, carefree, healthy, charismatic and driven muster the ability or need to take his life? How could he keep this deep depression from the entire world? No note, no guesses- everyone in his life is speechless. All in different shades of denial, shock or needing to find some logical reason for this complete tragedy. Everyone, speechless.
Years later I am still grieving and missing my daddy and live on in this shadow. He was the one that got me -always believed in me -my daddy.
Its still a mystery to me with so many damn hard lessons learned.
You can’t judge a book by its cover. We can never know the wars everyone is fighting below the skin or their stories untold. You are bound to what is not said and your own inner workings. My father did not live to tell his whole story and what was buried within him was slowly killing his soul. Secrets to whatever degree kill. Period.
Tell your story. Speak your truth. Be kind as everyone is fighting a battle we know nothing about.