The day my father died was the worst day of my life. I can't explain how much pain and sorrow that day put me through. It happened nearly 4 years ago, but I still remember it today and I just can't let it go. The memories of him creep back into my mind every time I am unoccupied. I usually have to force out smiles for people, and pretend that life is all “willy-nilly” and what not just because I can't stand it when people try and make me get over it. I know they mean well, but it just bugs me. They don't understand what that man meant to me. He was everything to me. My mother hated me, or at least I thought she did. My parents were divorced and I unfortunately had the luxury of living with her for all eight of my Public School years.

But my luck seemed to have been turning around. When I came home from my first day of High School, I found my mother lying on the kitchen floor. Dead. I was so happy. That woman was the devil. I just couldn't understand what my father saw in her. I didn't care though. I was just glad she was finally out of my life. My father got custody of me, and so I lived with him for around four years. In which the bond between us grew quite strong. He became my best friend, my mentor and my hero. He was always their for me when I needed him, even when he found out I was pregnant. My mother would have killed me, but my father he understood the situation I was in. He certainly wasn't happy with me, and I lost quite a few privileges, but I didn't care. I was just glad that he didn't kick me out. Actually he did quite the opposite. He welcomed me to stay with him until the baby was born. I felt really bad for him though.

Time moved on though, and once the baby was born we put him up for adoption. It was alot better then abortion, and I wasn't financially ready to handle a child especially since the “father” ran off when he found out I was pregnant. After the baby was put up for adoption I moved out of my fathers house and into the real world. I had lived in McAlster, Oklahoma for the majority of my life and It was really hard to leave all my friends, and of course my father, behind.

Since I lacked the necessary funds to go to College or University I dived right into the job world and, surprisingly I, got a job as journalist in New York. I rented out a little apartment building for about half a year. In this time I got a promotion, and one heck of a raise. I was no longer a shady little journalist for some news team no one cared about. I was now Co-Anchor on one of New Yorks most watched news programs and lived in an immaculate 2 story house in one of the most beautiful areas of the city. Everything was perfect, I was making enough money that I could finally go back to school. As much as I wanted too though, I didn't though. I was happy with my current employment and I really didn't know what I wanted to go to school for anymore. My dreams had already been fulfilled..

My life slowly started crumbling away though. My father had had a heart attack, and he apparently was on alot of medication. So I decided to quit my job and move back in with him to take care of him. He was on welfare, and I still had some money from my previous career stored away. So I lived out my life with him, and attended one of the best school McAlster had to offer. I didn't quite mind that my life really was at a stand still because of my father. It was my choice to help him, and ti felt so great to finally be able to pay him pay for all he had given me. I just wish I could've saved him from death. About a year of taking care of my tired old father he had another heart attack. This time my son, Benjamin, came to the hospital with his foster family. It was so great to see him. He was kind of confused on who I was, so I, and his foster parents, helped him understand. Once he understood he threw himself into my arms. He started crying and kept saying that he had missed me all these years. I couldn't help but cry with him.

We, the foster family and I, waited in the main lobby of the hospital while my father was being treated. He needed a new heart, and luckily we had gotten one. Before he went in for surgery Benjamin and I sat with him. We sat and talked for what seemed like hours, and it felt so great to finally talk to him again. I was terrified he had died when he had the heart attack. I was sop happy that he was alive.
I could tell Ben was happy to talk to his grandpa as well. He cuddled up beside him, and my father put his arm around him cradling him under his armpit. I curled up on the other side of him too and we sat their in each other loving embrace. When the doctors came in to take him I said one final thing to him.

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too sweet heart. Don't you worry, I'll see you soon.”

“Goodbye.”

That was the last thing I said to him, Goodbye. After hours and hours of waiting, a man in a bloody blue hospital apron came out to us. He called me over into a corner. He said that he regretted to inform me that my father had died. Time stood still. As soon as the man said the word “died” I fell to my knees, and burst into tears. Ben came over to me and leaned up against me asking what was wrong. I tried to tell him but all I could do was sob. His foster parents came over and explained to him that his grandpa had died. He leaned over onto me and said.

“Don't worry, mommy, everything will be okay.”

I turned my head to look at him, I saw a few tears starting to form in his eyes. I sat down on the ground and cradled him in my arms. We both sat their, balling our eyes out. The man in the bloody blue apron said he was sorry and walked back into the room. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked up at the clock. It read 2:43 A.M.

It's been four years from then and my life is a living hell. I've been living in McAlster since my fathers death. I never got over my grief, and I dived into the world of illegal narcotics for an escape from the pain. I spent the remaining money I had stored away on drugs, and a crappy little apartment. I spent my days doing odd jobs for drug money, and hanging out with the new pot head friends I had made. I eventually ran out of money and was forced out onto the streets. I had no one, my family was dead, Ben was going to High School somewhere in Canada now, and I was, for once in my life, alone. I was desperate for drug money, I did anything for it. Drugs were my life, I couldn't live without them. Ignoring the craving was like letting someone beat the crap out of you. The craving didn't induce physical pain, but the psychological pain was more then enough to make me even kill for money. I only murdered two people. They were two High School students who were taking a shortcut through an alleyway to get home. I had a knife. I sat on the ground, pretending to be a beggar, when they had passed I stabbed on of them in the leg and quickly jumped up to my feet. The one guy I stabbed fell to the ground, and his friend turned around, horrified. I held the blood drenched knife in my hand, and lunged forward, slicing his neck open.

I stole the money they had on them, and I hid their bodies in a dumpster. The next day they were all over the news. I didn't have the strength to even go buy drugs anymore. I just wanted the pain to stop. So I broke into someones house at night when they were out. I cut myself up pretty good trying to get in, and I dripped blood all over their house. I went into their garage and found some rope. Perfect. I made a noose, or something close to it anyway and tied it to their ceiling fan. I placed the thick rope around my neck and kicked away the chair I was standing on. The last thing I remember seeing was a clock that read: 2:43 A.M.

I'm in a better place now. I am up in heaven, finally reunited with my father. We watch over Benjamin everyday as he shapes his life. All I can do is watch, and hope that he shapes his life better then I shaped mine.