The 23 of September was the start of my first week with nothing to do. I mean nothing… For the first time since I was fifteen years old I didn’t have a job or school. I had no idea what to do with myself.
That week flew by and on Thursday September 26, about 10 p.m. my dad knocked on our bedroom door. He never came to our room after we went to bed. Not ever. He knocked loudly on the door and asked if he could come in.
I can still picture the look on his face, what he was wearing, where he stood, and which sheets were on the bed when he came in.
He said [his brother] just called, [My cousin] is dead. He hung himself.
I can barely type that. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, and my hands are shaking, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I remember shouting “No Daddy no.” And his response was harsh, “Yes M.”
He went back upstairs and I laid there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling. I still know exactly which ceiling tile I stared at.
Homie lay next to me silently. I couldn’t cry. It was too shocking, too unbelievable, and there were too many unanswered questions.
I couldn’t fathom this. How could this be true?
After a while (I have no idea how long), I got up and went to find my family. I sat on the couch in the living room and held my 2 youngest sisters while they cried. We passed multiple cell phones back and forth and I talked to my 3 other sisters who live elsewhere.
At times none of us could even talk. My parents sat on the couch across from us and my daddy looked shell shocked.
I’ve never seen him like that before.
I think this is the first time I have let myself think about that night in detail and I didn’t realize how hard it would be.
I don’t think I was ready for this. I don’t think I have really processed it completely even though it has been months.