R.R.

I remember being a junior in high school with my head in one place: making the most of what was left in that chapter of my life. I did it mostly by looking into colleges and keeping those grades up because my success in school was one of the only things that I could control. With an alcoholic father and a drug addict mother, life outside of school was not easy. I had been living with my nana since the sixth grade, but I struggled with inner conflicts regarding my parents each and every day. Prior to moving in with my nana, I lived with my father. I truly felt that he gave my sister and I all that he could. My mother, on the other hand, was the opposite. As a little girl, I thought she made an effort because I would get letters in the mail…letters that had been sent from jail. I eventually grew to realize that my father was my rock while my mother was someone I always wished would act like one but never did. That being said, it was very hard for me to live away from my father. Another reason that I dove into my schoolwork and spent hours a day playing basketball or running was to think less about how much I missed my him. Due to these things my weekends were packed from start to finish. This resulted in me visiting my dad less and less, but I knew he was just a phone call away. What I didn’t know was what I would do if for some reason I couldn’t call him anymore. I couldn’t have known that our last call ever would be the day before he died. I had no idea that I would come home from school on March 4, 2016 to be told that there had been a tragic event. My father, my rock, the greatest man I ever knew had been struck by a car. I would never hear his voice or see him again. I am now going through my junior year of college in a completely different town. How in the world did I get here?

For the first year, I was still using my defense mechanism of diving into my textbooks and popping up for air as little as possible. It was only after high school that the current chapter of my life began. Since moving to San Luis Obispo for college in the fall of 2017, there have been two major things that help me deal with my circumstances. No matter how much the days drain me, no matter what triggers me, no matter how hard life hits me, I could always depend on my family and my home. Losing my father made me cherish the family that I do have, dysfunctional as they may be; however, it took me awhile to get to this point. How could I move on when I never got to say goodbye? That brings me to the way my home comes in. Living here gives me so many opportunities to do the things that make me happy… the things that made my dad happy. Waking up before the sun and watching it rise or sitting beside the ocean as the sun sets on the horizon are the kinds of things we loved together. The majority of my interests come from my father and the things he taught me to do. Most of the time when I am feeling down, I try to take a walk along the water. It almost immediately brightens my mood because I know that he would love to be there with me. Other times when I am overwhelmed with stress the only thing I want to do is call my dad to talk about it. To this day, I still pick up the phone sometimes. I do it because for a split second I forget that he is no longer just a phone call away. Suddenly, my mind is flooded by all of the things in life that he will not be there for. I would say that is the hardest part of life without him. That split second of forgetting followed by the rush of remembering. 

The way I handle life without my father was never before something that I felt comfortable sharing. I did not want anyone to know about me having panic attacks, crying myself to sleep, and bottling everything up. I thought that it would make me seem like I was weak or asking for pity. Little by little, I am feeling more comfortable with sharing what goes on in my life. I have been nothing but inspired by other strong women who have shared their stories. I used to think that I would get a negative response if anyone knew that I was having panic attacks until one that I remember very clearly from this past summer. I had gone for a spontaneous night swim in a pond and sliced my foot on a rock. I was not in any kind of distress as my cousin cleaned off the bottom of my foot until I suddenly felt a panic attack coming on. My first thought was to try and let it pass by walking alone into the darkness, but my cousin was confused as to why I stood up in the middle of her caring for my cut. After just a few steps, I fell against the side of a nearby truck because I was so disoriented. 

The next big step I took was asking me cousin to follow me to her car. At that point, I could hardly speak or even breathe. I knew I had to tell her what was happening, but I didn’t think she would completely understand. How do you explain what is happening when you cannot see, hear, or speak? I managed to focus on my breathing and calm down enough to tell her. To my surprise, she completely understood. Panic attacks are a very common thing no matter how severe. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had someone who I could really talk about things with yet I still didn’t tell her what I believe was the cause of my panic attack. We were doing something fun and spontaneous that my dad would have loved, and he was not there to enjoy it or even hear about it. That night I realized that even in doing the things he loved, I might have a bad reaction due to the lack of him actually being here. It comes down to handling it like I always have and always will as well as having people to handle it with.

There’s so much more that I have chosen to leave out, more that goes on in this life of mine each and every day, and more that I may never share. In spite of the things we do not share, I encourage you to step outside of your comfort zone even if just for a brief time. Allow yourself to be vulnerable with someone you trust. Odds are, that person could also use someone to handle it with. Don’t be afraid to share your struggles with the people that care about you, and don’t be afraid to let new people onto your path. My favorite poet once said that one day he would build a castle with all of the stones he collected that tried to block his path, and I have made it my goal to continue living by those words.