Deathcopy

Death. To people it means many different things. Some people may not think anything of it, until it strikes close to them. I know before I had my father pass away, I never thought once about it.

When I first heard of my dad dying, it made me way sad. I was ten or eleven, not old enough yet to understand, why someone would want to take their own life. I was crushed when it happened. It was like a part of me was missing, like someone had ripped my heart out and laid a direct attack on me.

When I learned he had committed suicide it made me very angry. I kept thinking how could someone do that and hurt his whole family. Especially my brothers and I. I kept thinking how could someone be thinking for their self and not considering the effects it would have on other people.

Everywhere I went seemed to make it hurt more, all the friends and family telling me how sorry they were just seemed to keep making me think more and more about it. I didn't want to think about it; I wanted it to be over with. The question that hurt the most was when everyone asked me how did he die. I mean honestly