It wasn’t until the following morning that I was actually able to hear my mothers words. We sat on the couch together, a gap between us so that I could see her face. I watched her mouth more than anything, I studied how her bottom lip shook as she spoke the words; “he took his own life.”

Confusion engulfed me once again. I knew that what my mother was saying must be true, I had grown up my whole life with her saying she “hated liars.” To this I knew that she wouldn’t lie when she had spent so much energy ingraining its sin to me. But how? My father was a strong man, both mentally and physically. He had taken on a world of shit and never did one worry line form across his face. How could it be that this man I had known for 23 years had weakened to the point of self destruction?

I continued to watch my mothers lips move with her words, and occasionally I would steel a look at her eyes. Not for too long though, because her pain was so evident I thought for sure I would break just from a sheer glance.

The semantics of the incident started to be elaborated on. My father had shot himself in the chest in the detached garage of his home. His then girlfriend, Kim had been the one to call the police. The description my mother had was vague, as she had not collected many of the details. I assume that was okay for the time, because I wasn’t quite ready to explore them myself.

What came to light next was that there was a lot to do to prepare, and I had to get home to New York.

Isn’t it interesting how we “prepare” someone for their own death? We make arrangements and decisions for someone who will not be around to see them. The irony is that I wasn’t prepared for my fathers death; but I had to prepare him.

I spent the rest of that day speaking with the lovely people from different airline companies. It was January 4th, and they would not extend an bereavement flight to me due to the fact that it was still “holiday season.” I reminded myself to call later and apologize for not being able to make my fathers suicide more convenient.

A few hours and a few hundred dollars later, and I was on my way to New York; alone.