In the fall of my Junior year, during second-period English, my phone started to vibrate wildly with notifications from the Ring Doorbell at my house. I decided to quickly glance at the app to see why there was an unexpected increase in activity. Upon opening the app, I saw three police officers through the camera, standing at our door in full uniform. I analyzed the clip for clues because I couldn’t listen to the audio. As the day went on, I continued to scour the video and view the live camera, with each review of the footage squeezing my chest. At lunch, I finally sat down and listened. I felt my heart plunge violently into my stomach as I heard my mother’s strained sobs over the camera’s microphone, crying, “he’s upstairs.” That day, my father took his life while my 13-year-old sister and I were at school. Even though I lacked proof at the time, I knew, deep down, what had happened. I felt in my gut that my life had just changed forever.
From then on, everything that was previously stable began to shift. I felt numb and experienced not only depression and worsening anxiety, but also anger, grief, guilt, and confusion. I lost motivation for school and daily activities, and I struggled to find a passion for the things that were once important to me. I began to question everything that I knew about my father and myself. Over time, however, my priorities became clear. I went to therapy, took time off from school, and prioritized my mental and physical health. Ultimately, I invested in and showed kindness to myself, finally taking time for my hobbies, friends, family, and personal well-being. I began to value my life and time as a precious asset, differing from my past self tremendously. My friends, who I had only met a few years ago, were loyal and supportive. They often stopped by my house, texted, and called to make sure I was okay. They brought me meaningful gifts, like plushies, journals, and treats, and included me in various activities. They showed me kindness, patience, and understanding as I grieved, staying by me while I struggled. My teachers and counselors were also incredibly kind, and I remember how flexible, cooperative, and caring they were and still are. They excused assignments to lighten my workload, advocated for my time off, helped me catch up, and acknowledged how I worked hard despite my struggles, which encouraged me to keep pushing. My mom and baby sister, who experienced this alongside me, were compassionate, understanding, and extremely kind when I struggled, even if they were also in pain. All of these people showed me unwavering kindness and support, which had a profound impact on my healing journey and allowed me to grow stronger. I am forever grateful to them.
Sometimes the loss feels like it did on that Tuesday in October: surreal and hard to accept. I lost my dad, someone who had been a major part of my life and whom I loved dearly. But from this terrible experience, I grew closer to the people in my life. I have learned about myself, and I continue to learn and heal each day. If you compared me now and me from two years ago, you would think that we were two completely different people. Even though I experienced one of my worst fears, I have worked to survive, grow, love, and thrive in the face of loss thanks to the kindness of the people around me.