When I was 17 my father died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. He was a very integral part of our family. My two brothers, my sister, my mom, and I were all devastated by his sudden death. I think we were in shock for the first year, and we never really talked about dad with each other. I felt so alone, lost, confused, and angry. I was angry at God and at my mother because she didn't do her job as a parent and take care of us. Now I understand how much pain my mother was in and how much she as well as I lost that fateful day.
Dad's death has impacted my life in so many ways that I hardly know where to start. For the first year after his death, I was numb and angry. For the second and third years, I was hurt and trying unsuccessfully to deal with the pain of my loss. I distinctly remember one intense crying spell that I had about two years after his death. I sat in my dorm room and cried for at least two hours. I couldn't stop, and I wanted my dad to comfort me like he used to when I was a child. I was also so scared because I couldn't remember the sound of his voice or his laugh. I missed him so much, and I still do. He was a wonderful, kind, and sensitive man. What I remember most about my father is how he used to tuck us in at night. My father was a farmer, and he was up before us and didn't get in until late at night. So bedtime was our special time together. He used to tell us bedtime stories, usually the Three Pigs or Goldilocks and the 3 Bears, and he used to get us a glass of water, aspirin, and tuck us in. I know he must have been so tired at night, but he never once complained or said a word. He never once told us to just go to sleep.