Daddy
The phone drops; my heart is pounding I feel like I'm in a dark world and there is a weight on my back, holding me down pressing my head into my shoulders. Then I look over to my sister my eyes filled with so much pain and misunderstanding, not knowing what to say and how to say it because things like this cannot come out so easily; instead it feels like a thousand burning knives cutting my throat, trying to make their way out. Between all the tears and sorrow I felt, I had to try and find a way to tell my younger sister that one of the most important people in our life was gone. Our father.
“ Jasmine” I said as tears streamed from my eyes “where's mommy?”
My words came out so heavy and hard but my sister was barley paying attention she answered in a smart-ass voice “what's wrong with you?”
“Nothing just tell me were she is!”
“Whatever she's a Dawn's house”

    My emotions and state of mind were so mixed up and disordered. I didn't know what to do; I felt helpless. Something I was not use to because I was so use to being so strong all the time. As I walked down the stairs calmly, each step I took made my knees feel like they were about to shatter my heart felt like every beat was my last. My vision blurred. I finally got to the last step. I got to my neighbor's door; I froze for a minute. then finally I knocked.
“Just a minute!” she yelled. It sounded like she was rushing to the door. “ Hey, Bre!”
“Hey.” I paused because I knew if I spoke too fast, the tears would come and I wouldn't be able to speak. “Um, can I talk to my mom real fast?”
“Sure honey,” she said her sweet warm face had almost instantly changed to concerned.
Before my mom had even got to the door I burst out with, “He's gone!”
“Who, Brittany, who?” She said with this look of confusion that my mom often gave my sister and I when she had no idea what was going on.
“My dad!”
    I don't think it had completely hit my mom for a good two minutes, because she didn't say a word; she didn't move at all. She just had this look of disbelief. I think the part that hurt her the most was the fact that there was nothing she could do, buy, or say to bring him back and make us feel better. Something she was always able to do.
“Did you tell your sister?” she asked calmly.
“No, I didn't know how”.
As we walked up the stairs back up to our apartment it felt like home was a million miles away. I walked in and my mother followed.
“ Jasmine, come in my room”.
“Whatever Brittany told you, it's not true!” she said in this whining irritating voice
She got up and stomped to the back, not knowing she really wasn't prepared for what she was going to hear. All I heard was my sister my little sister crying and screaming, and it's weird because for the first time I felt what my sister was feeling. My sister and I were never really that close, we have always disagreed and had our arguments. My whole world shifted.     Life, as I knew it had changed.


    When he died I felt like he took a part of me with him and I was so upset because I thought to myself, “If my dad really loved me like he said he did, why did he go, why did he leave me?” I know it sounds selfish but I was only thirteen and didn’t really understand. I felt so alone.

    As we drove to my grandparents’ house later that night, it was like memory lane for me. I thought about all the good times and all the crazy funny outrageous things that my father used to say and do. It made me feel better. It gave me a sense of comfort until I had realized those are the last memories I would ever have. I thought about the fact that he would not be there for my eighth grade promotion, high school graduation, proms, dances, or weddings. He always talked about all those things and how he couldn’t wait to be there for them. Then it sunk in what about my little brother who was just born two months before, and all my other brothers and sisters and that’s what hurt me the most. I thought about the questions they would ask (I am the third of my father’s fourteen children), and I knew that they would come.

    I tried my best to keep myself together, but I just couldn’t grasp the idea of my father being gone. I’m sure my mother could tell that I wasn’t okay even though I tried to portray it as if I was, by the way I stared out the window the whole way from Vallejo to Fremont. So she tried to make conversation to try and ease our pain and her own at the same time.

    At my grandparent’s house, my uncle who had flown out here from Arizona, was outside on the porch puffing on what was probably his twentieth cigarette. I hugged him and didn’t say a word. I just walked in the house to find my best friend, my Nana. I had never seen her this way before. My grandmother is always been a fun, easygoing person and she always makes you laugh. When I walked in the house I gave a half smile, and went and sat by her. She took my hand and didn’t say a word and neither did I. I wanted to do something, anything, or at least say something to make my Nana feel better, but I knew it would just make it worst. Then finally silence broke when the phone rang; for some reason I had imagined my dad on the other line calling to say he was okay it was the wrong person and he would be home soon. But it wasn’t. Instead it was another friend calling to give their condolences.

    Finally I fell asleep. I dreamed that I had walked in the house and my dad was in the living room waiting for me to come home so that we could go to our favorite place that we would go sometimes when he came to visit, Mexicali Rose, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I woke up the next morning to realize that it was nothing but a dream.
    
    My phone rang and my friend Ashley was on the other line. “I’m sorry what happened to your pops.”
“It’s okay, thanks for calling.”
“Yeah but that’s fucked up how it happened,” she said with anger.
“Yeah I know,” I said, depressed
“Well Imma call you later,” I said anxious to get off the phone.
“Bye, and I’ll get your work for you.”
Thinking that’s the furthest thing from my mind I said, “Thanks, Ash.”
I felt better talking to Ashley because her heavy New York accent always use to amuse me and I often imitated it. Even though I didn’t feel like talking at the time, that was the call I needed because I felt like someone was there who cared.  

    Later on that day my older brother Lacey and my younger brother Nelson came. I was so happy to see them because I had only seen Lacey once in six months, and Nelson almost a year; yeah we talked over the phone, but it wasn’t the same as being in the presence of them.
    “ Lacey, Nelson!” I yelled with excitement.
My little brother as I hugged and kissed him said “Get off me, enough with the mushy stuff.”  
    Even as a five-year-old nelson was very mature for his age, but in a funny way. Then my brother Lacey had embraced me in a way that told me that he felt the same way I did and that it was okay. Out of all my brothers and sisters, Lacey and I are the closest to each other. When I was younger I used to think my older brother was Superman, yeah sad but true, I thought there was nothing that he couldn’t conquer; even to this day I still believe that (well not the superman part).
    “ Hey, Lacey,” I said in a cheerful voice.
    “Was sup, bucket head?”
    “ Shut-up, Lacey, u always gotta say something. Your head ain’t that small either,” I said in an offended voice.
    After they had been at my grandparent’s house for a while, my brother and I went down to this park that is around the corner from the house like we would always do. We talked for hours about everything: boys, his girlfriend (who I didn’t really like, and still don’t; because she’s so rude and acts like my brothers second mom), school, cheerleading, football, our little brothers and sisters, then my dad. It had seemed like we were trying to avoid it but we both knew it was going to come up.
“ So how are you, Bre, really?” he said it like that’s what he had been waiting to ask me the whole time.
“ I’m fine really,” I said, trying to hide my true feelings.
“ It’s me, Lacey, you don’t have to front and pretend.”  
My brother knew I was lying because he knows that I try and act like I could handle the same things he could. I looked up to him and wanted to be just like him (but in a girlish way) so when he told me he wasn’t okay, I didn’t feel like such a punk when I told him it was hard and I couldn’t understand why somebody would do that. I paused for a minute. My heart was pounding, because I had expected for him to laugh because the last time I told my brother my deep feelings for this boy at school he laughed and I was so crushed because I was so serious. But he didn’t instead he came closer to me put his arm around my shoulder and just took a deep breath. My brother my superhero once again, he made me feel like everything was going to be okay. We talked for a long time about my father and for the first time in almost a week I could talk about him and be okay; because I knew that if I just happened to break down Lacey was there to help pick up the pieces.

Two days later we went to the funeral, I didn’t think that I was going to be able to get through the service, but I did and I was strong. It was funny to me because I felt a type of relief when I saw him he looked like he was at peace, like he had no idea what had happened. He didn’t look fake or plastic; he just looked like he was in a deep sleep.  When everything first happened I thought I was alone and had no one by my side, but as I looked around I seen all my beautiful brothers and sisters, and realized my father never really left because he shines through all of us in everyway.