I swiped my hair back as it fell upon my wet brow. In a hurry, I scrambled to my feet and looked around the dark, sullen room that used to bring me such exuberant life and happiness; everything was packed. All of my colorful clothes, all of my pictures, and precious memories seemed to now lay lifeless in a bland cardboard box. I had no time to think anymore than I already had, no time to weep or gripe- I just wanted to leave. I draped my worn-out, tattered blanket over my shoulders, and I tiptoed to my bedroom door.
For a moment I heard silence as I put my numb ear to the piece of plywood that separated me from the rest of the world. For that moment it was peaceful in my childhood home. Of course, that moment passed as quickly as it came; I suppose I hadn't enjoyed it enough to make it last. It stung me like an exasperated wasp as I began to heed the ongoing, ruthless lashing between my mother and father. At that moment, the only thing that seemed to matter in that house was my parent's opinions, and who would win the fight this time; it wasn't me, it never was. Yet, as I heard their words of hate and blame being placed upon each other, I felt nothing. I guess emotions are complicated in that way. Usually, your heart breaks when something horrible happens to you or one you may love; yet, it was more my mental stability that shattered along with my parent's divorce. Little by little I gathered my timid courage to gradually open my door. As my hand grasped that old doorknob, my complete hand froze as chills ran up my arm; the brassy metal felt like bitter ice against my burning skin. After a moment, my eyes strained around the doorsill as I gradually peeked out into the empty, bleak hallway. As I was about to take my first step out into the gloomy darkness, I heard heavy footsteps coming up the creaking stairs.
Now, I had never been afraid of my loving dad. He had always been there for me, and I presume that he always will. However, at this moment in time his steps seemed much quicker, and heavier than usual, as if he were in a hurry. Hastily, I began to slam my door closed; but of course, I wasn't as speedy as he was. At that moment, I couldn't help but look at his face which was a deep rose color. He looked me in the eyes with the look of a man with a broken heart. As I stared back, I noticed the tears swelling in his deep blue eyes. Slowly he was able to speak, the words almost hidden with tears, asking me what was to come of him now. Being 13 and slightly immature, I had no idea or chance to think of the right words that would, or could ever comfort him. I stared at the floor. My head was blank and my mouth was dry. His voice was desperate as he proceeded to tell me that he had no one anymore; no body in his life worth living for, and he might as well be done with life. He proceeded to whimper words of hate; Yet, I believe these words were towards my mother who had taken his home, wife, and now his daughter from him (or so his mind told him). His words and tears struck at me like a sharply bladed knife. I had no idea at this time that he was mentally unstable; all I was worried about was his present safety. As I stared him in the eyes, I noticed that they were swollen from the tears that consumed them. They were bright red with splotches of drowning white and deep blue. My face felt like it was engulfed in frenzied flames; my palms felt as though they were dripping, my knees were weak and shook from shock and exhaustion. After sometime of listening to my father badger his life, and snivel about how he thought constantly about taking a rifle to his head, I allowed the looming tears to fall.
In retrospect I learned how vulnerable a little girl could be during this tough time. However, I learned quite a lot about people in general, especially myself. I never understood how special life truly was until I pleaded and begged my father to keep his own. Each moment I beseeched my father, I thought of what would be left behind if I were to die in that moment. Every little thing in life (such as seeing the snow fall in the winter, or walking his daughter down the aisle) was examples I gave to my father. I believe that although these events of my parents divorce were a struggle, it made me a better person and forced me to become a more mature woman. This was a life experience that I could never possibly forget; but honestly, I don't think I would ever want to overlook this period of my life. Some people seem to lead perfect lives, with families that stick together and tragedies that never pester their years. However, each day I look at what I do have, and give thanks for everything that is left. I still have my father, my Mother and both of my brothers, as well as my own life. I believe the future holds great experiences and opportunities for me, which is why I'm proud to write this essay. I know that if I stay positive, anything can drift my way- and with it, success will closely follow.