Well the morning visit sucked balls as expected. Mom, in her typical fashion has made all of this about her. I shit you not she actually told me, "how could you do this to me." Are you mutherfucking kidding me? Seriously, she thinks I did this to her? Ok, lets just back the fucking truck up here... My childhood sucked because of her and her bullshit. But I did this to her... I got a lecture about how much my little incident cost them. That was super great to have the focus be on money. Not so much as a how you doing? Are you ok? No one in my fucked up family has asked me once why I did it. They just talk shit about me and make me out to be crazy and unbalanced. Thanks to them, I get to stay here for as long as they think I need to be here or some shit like that. SO, I may as well get comfy. But, enough about that craptastic stuff, on to the timeline stuff. Next up...

Daddy died – The day my father died is forever burned into my mind. Like a nightmare that I will never wake up from, it lingers in my mind’seye. I was in kindergarten then. It was spring of 1987. The super bowl had just passed. Dad’s team lost to the Bears and Easter was just around the corner. I went to school half days. On this day I remember having an overwhelming sense of dread. I was convinced if I left daddy that day something terrible would happen. I was 6 years old so how bat shit did that probably sound? I remember literally kicking and screaming and my mom dragging me to school. I would wait until she wasn’t looking and run as fast as I could to try to go back home. Our home at the time was within mere blocks from the school. The 5 minutes in would normally take had to have taken at least 30 at that rate. Once she finally got me to the school, I once again plotted my escape to get back home. I snuck out of the class room with the teacher not too far behind me. The teacher decided I was going to go hang out with the custodian for the day so she could distract me. The whole time I cried and pleaded my case for her to let me go home and just check on my daddy. The school dad came and went, and mom came to pick me up. Dad was working at night so we went to my grandpa’s house for dinner so my sister and I could play without waking dad up. After dinner we came home. Our normal routine was to go in together and wake dad up for work. But this day was different…Mom walked into the door way of the bedroom and frozen. She held my sister and I back as she started to scream. I was in the doorway just enough to see their waterbed now filled a red water and dad’s feet at the edge of the bed. Mom pushed us out the door and told us to run across the street and get our neighbor and to tell them to call 911. I had no idea what was going on, but we knew something was wrong. The rest of the night was a blur. Siting in a police car with my cousins who lived down the block from us and crying that I needed to make sure daddy was ok. I just needed to see my daddy. Over the next few days we stayed at various relative’s homes. Mostly my dad’s extended family members. I didn’t see my mom for about a week. She was staying at my godparent’s house, I guess. We got to see her at the funeral and then again on Easter. She ran out of the service crying when one of the songs from his funeral was played during Easter mass. Suddenly things were different. It wasn’t until later that I found out what happened that night. Dad had shot himself in the head. They say that if it had been an inch to the left,he would have lived but been a vegetable. I heard rumors later that my mom had been investigated as a suspect as well. Much like everything else in my life, we never spoke of this so who knows what was true or not. The one thing that is true for me is that I still blame myself of not being able to get back home to him. If I had just fought harder, I would have been home. He wouldn’t have done it if I were home right? He would still be here, and my life would be happy still. I would have had a normal life and had my dad, my hero to protect me. But that’s not what happened. What I didn’t know about my dad was that his childhood sucked too. Remember that part about the Evil queen grandma…well now is where we bring her back in to our saga of suckfest. So, the story goes like this, grandma and grandpa were high school sweethearts. Grandpa was the star athlete, even made it to the Olympic trials in the 800 and holds a state record in it dating back to the 50’s. He was a sniper in WWII. The young husband and father of two went off to Germany to fight for his country. Meanwhile, the evil succubus grandma was back home whoring it up with daddy big bucks. The dumb ass leaves my dad who is like four with his little sister who was 3 in a car with a loaded gun while she is boning her rich side piece. The kiddos think the gun is a toy, gun goes off, my aunt dies, and my 4-year-old dad is blamed for it and is raised being referred to by his psycho mom as the baby killer. She convinces him that the reason my grandfather divorced her was because of what he did, and she marries the man she was having an affair with. But wait…it gets more twisted. She tells my dad his real dad hates him and wants nothing to do with him. Apparently, a few months before my dad died, they were selling the house he grew up in and found a trunk full of unopened gifts and cards from his dad that she had hid from him his whole life. We got to meet his real dad right before my dad died. My mom says very little about my dad’s death, but she blames my grandma for it. I don’t know if that is really what it was about. All I know is that life was never happy or normal after that day. My last “memory” of him was the night of the funeral. I felt someone pull the covers up to tuck me in. Half asleep, eyes shut I heard a man’s voice tell me good night, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Sweet dreams my love and felt a peck on my forehead. I work up the next morning and asked my mom where my uncles were assuming that one of them was who had come to tuck me in. She told me that they hadn’t been over the night before at all and it was just my aunts and grandma in the house with us. Now, maybe my crazy ass imagined it, but I think or maybe just hope it was him coming to tuck me in one last time...

Next Chapter: Entry Three