Endless Regret

December 10th, 2017. Who knew this was the day my life would change forever. The day that started a life of regret and pain. The reason I feel guilty to still be alive today, and the reason I cry almost every night. It is the day my dad took his own life.

I remember the day I found out he passed away, I tried to call my dad but there was no answer, he was really gone. The shame I felt when I found out through my cousins was unbearable, why wasn’t I the first to know? Why didn’t the cops show up at my door? My mom wasn’t even home, I couldn't possibly feel anymore alone. The tears never seemed to stop, the burning sensation seeped through my eyes everytime I tried to blink. I thought if I made it through the night, tomorrow would be easier. I was wrong.

The next morning we went to the morgue. Entering the room and seeing my all of my family members crying and screaming, coming to console me, feelings of anger raged within me. Where were these people when my dad clearly needed help? What were they trying to prove? They were never there for him, yet they are here crying for his loss. My family was then called in, we were lead to a private room. Then it happened, it felt like I had just been stabbed. The lady told us that she had been dealing with similar situations as my father’s for over 20 years now. From all her previous experience, she noticed that depression and addiction are both the primary triggers of suicide, and the fact my dad had both was just too much for one person to handle. She looked into each of our eyes, taking a deep breath before she could manage to tell us what came next, “Unfortunately, your dad was unable to cope, however, he is now at peace”.

The lady told us that at the time of his death, pictures of my siblings and myself were placed all around him. She said that the second she walked into the room, she could tell how much he loved us. She asked me when I last saw my dad, I felt like the worst daughter in the world, it had been six months. I started to remember all those times he begged to see my siblings I, all those times we cancelled on him so we could go to a birthday party or see a movie. I remember just a year ago when we were visiting him, he told us about how alone he was, how nobody cared about him, and that we were the only reason he is still alive. I can still remember his apartment. Walking in there and smelling the lingering scents of cigarettes. There were pills all over the floor and almost every fabric in the room was burnt. His fridge never had food, he was skinnier every time we saw him. We knew the emotional state he was in, why didn’t we do anything? Even though he had no money, he used to give this homeless man in his neighbourhood a dollar almost every day, telling him to just pray for his kids, us. He was sick, he needed help, I will never forgive myself for not trying.

Although there is so much blame to go around, I know I am not the only one responsible. He had so many family members, but not a single sibling would come and visit his small apartment. When they did, it was to give him a ride somewhere, in which they would charge him for the drive. During family gatherings nobody ever included my dad, his siblings would make fun of him and yell at him to get his life together. My dad went through so much in his life; he was a refugee, his father died in the war, his mother is paralyzed. He deserved a better life, a better family, a better daughter. I keep torturing myself for not being there for him. If I had just picked up his phone call the night before, he could’ve been alive today.

Even though I am so upset, I still have so much frustration that I have bottled up inside of me. Growing up, I had to deal with my dad and his addictions, I was only 8 years old the first time I called the cops because my dad had an overdose. The image still replays in my head, my dad was convulsing on the floor, foam coming out of his mouth. He then jumps up and runs back and forth in the hallway of our building, screaming, not blinking once. We lived on Jane and Finch, the people there were never understanding. Everyone was yelling at my dad to shut up, yelling at me to stop him. I was just a kid, how could they leave me alone seeing what I was going through? How did they not feel morally obligated to help? How cold-hearted could they be? I experienced so many things no kid should ever go through. My dad’s life was over the day he took his first pill, and he took my life with him.

No matter how many times people tell you it gets easier, it doesn't. The pain just gets easier to hide. The days go from blaming my family, blaming myself, to blaming my dad. There are so many emotions and so many triggers, it is a never-ending confusion of where to express all your frustration towards. Grief is an endless pain, the hardest part of losing someone is realizing that today is just one more day without their presence in your life.