The Hardest Time

Daily writing prompt

What’s a moment that made you realize you were stronger than you thought?

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A moment in life that made me realize I was stronger than I thought was the day my dad committed suicide. I was in shock for most of that time, therefore, my true feelings did not come out until later.

I remember standing at his bedside for the two days in the ICU when they had him hooked up to a machine that was the only thing keeping him alive. I remember talking with him because the nurses said he could probably hear me. I was 22 years old. I reminded him of the good times we had when we would go fishing on Sundays. I promised to never get my lure hooked in the tree branches again if he’d just wake up and live. I talked to him about the hot days that he assigned my sister and I to turning the hay bales so they could dry. We had to go all around the field and turn them over so the wet side could dry out. I told him I’d never complain about doing that again if he’d just wake up. I said all of this in between my tears as I knew he would never wake up. Deep down, I knew they were keeping him on the machine so that everyone could say their good-byes. He had shot himself on a Saturday, and on the following Tuesday, we had to say goodbye. I could not stay in the room when they disconnected the machine. He only lasted maybe a few minutes after that. I did go back in to say good-bye before I left.

How did I stay strong? I went to church with Grandma and Grandpa, and I went back to substitute teaching. It was a good distraction for me. I had a hole in my heart though. I yearned for the times when he’d come in the house from the fields for a cup of coffee and sit on the basement steps and ask me to play the piano for him. I was closest to my dad. I was busy and stayed strong most of that time after his passing; however, for the next forty-some years, it bothered me. It still does. Every time someone in the community had a suicide in the family, it was like having a flashback. Suicide was a hush-hush topic back then. All the feelings welled up inside of me when it happened in someone else’s family, and still does. In my sixties, it still bothers me when this happens. I guess it must be some PTSD.

I want my dad to know that I made it. He lived long enough to see me finish my bachelor’s degree. He didn’t get to see any of my kids (or grandkids), and that makes me sad. I know that he would have been proud of me becoming a teacher and a principal. Every time I see my son on the tractor, exuding the love of farming he has, I think of dad and how proud he would have been of him taking care of the land and raising cattle. He has dad’s natural instincts for farming. Somehow, I know that dad knows all of this. He’d be proud of all of them.

Later…