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I believe the emotions that followed those words are one some of the most difficult to describe. Many people would describe such as shock, or an out of body experience. I didn’t really feel that those descriptions do justice to my state of mind at that moment.

The best description I can provide is that is as if I took an obscene amount of amphetamines and my mind was playing a movie of my life in fast forward beginning with the very first memory I had. I thought about everything in that moment, things that made no connection to anything that was currently happening in the present moment. I thought about the dog I had as a child, the last time I was grounded as a teenager, eating a breakfast sandwich in my dad’s work truck. I remember wondering if I had put the laundry in the dryer and if I had put the garbage cans out (as if was garbage day). The mind is an elaborate and confusing part of a human being, but it surely does it’s best to protect the heart. 

Tears did not come at one as one would expect, even as my mother went through the details. She explained to me that he had taken his own life and that I needed to call the police in NY to get the rest of the details. It is in this moment I remember reaching for the phone and wondering how in the world do you call the police in a different state? I couldn’t very well dial 911. A warm hand took the phone and dialed for me, no doubt my mothers. I never turned to look at her but I could feel the love in her touch.

Before long, I was speaking with a Rochester City Police Officer who had apparently responded to the call at my father’s home. I had a less than pleasant conversation with the man who had clearly gone cold to all emotions from his time spent in homicide; or in my case suicide.  His confirmation of the events was quick and cold and the conversation was terminated within minutes.

I set the phone down and realized for the first time that I had a shaky hand.

I spent the rest of the night making calls to family, alerting them of the situation. I sounded like a recording, void of all emotion as I called aunts, uncles, my grandmother, friends, each conversation as bland as the last. In the back of my mind I kept thinking about my ten year old little sister, had anyone told her?

     I finished the necessary phone calls and returned to the living room to be with my family. It was looking into their swollen red -rimmed eyes that I finally grasped the sense of awareness. The tears flowed freely from my eyes, as unstoppable as the pain I was experiencing. I cried until I choked and eventually until I vomited. I spent the remainder of the night in the bathroom, unable to stop the effects.

I wouldn’t have considered my home state of New York as the “North Country,” until I moved to Texas. It is here that I realized how much Texas really is it’s own country. It has been interesting being a girl from the north country in these southern waters. 

It should go without saying, (but let’s be honest, nothing does these days) that I wouldn’t have traded my NY upbringing for anything. I have my faults of course, but I don’t think I could have survived the rest of what you will read without being a little rough around the edges and developing a tough skin (probably from those blistery winter days). 

I was raised by my mother and my father, but divorce was a part of my life very early on and my upbringing was done separately. I must take this moment to pay homage to my parents in that even divorced, they could come together instantly when anything had to do with me. This included, but was not limited to family functions, life milestones and severe punishment. You know how children of divorced families can feel powerful that their punishment in one home would not carry over to the next? Not here. Not in my home. My parental units were a united front. I love them for that. 

Love was abundant, knowledge was power, and honesty was paramount; as a girl from the north country.