It was a simple day of life for me. Nothing at that point in time was a bother or a big problem to me. I had all the basic needs a three-year-old needed to function: a decent day at school, Mom wasn’t in a bad mood, and I had a remote in my hand watching tv on the couch.

I was flipping through channels trying to find something that would peak my interest. I finally came across a channel that included a lot of things I enjoyed then and still do now:  shows about car rebuilds. I don't generally remember what the show was called, but as the dialog continued between two people one of them said to the other, ”Hey, where’s your dad?”. For some reason it seemed like they were talking to me when they said that question. As i sat on the couch, I pondered that thought for at least five minutes before I realized I was day dreaming. the question I had never known the answer to for so long but didn’t care. when others asked me, I just responded with the usual answer of “I don’t know”; but even then, I had heard others ask each other. Yet I never asked myself “Where is my father?” My needs to watch TV dissipated and I was determined to find the truth. I slid off the couch onto the carpet and headed for my mother’s room to seek an answer. As I walk past my sister’s room, I saw her playing with my other little sister. They seemed happy, without a care in the world.
As I neared the entrance to my mom’s room, she appeared to be looking at what looked to be some old photos. I didn't see who was in them, nor did I even bother to look.

She paused once she caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t look directly at me; she just stared at the photos in her hands, one by one. after about two seconds she said “Need something kiddo?”. I took a short moment to myself to think about whether I should ask her or not. But the anxiety and eagerness got to me and the question projected out of my mouth. “Mom...where is my dad?”. She looked at me and it looked like that question had hit her like a bullet. Her eyes swelled with tears and she had a mourning look on her face. She sat on her bed and told me to sit next to her. I followed the command like a dog, and sat down on the bed. She said in a calm and sad voice “Honey, there is something i need to tell you…” I waited for an answer; her little pause of time seemed like forever in my world of anxiousness. Then, she finished the sentence with the same pace as she began. “your father passed away in a car accident when you were three years old.”

It felt like my whole body was paralysed; no muscle of mine moved for about 30 seconds. the only signals of my body still living were my heartbeats and the moving of my lungs. Each breath hurt to take in. My eyelids were glued shut, but they didn’t stop the tears from escaping and running down my face. Each drop represented the years of wondering about the truth and getting no where. As they streamed down my face one by one, faster and faster; it felt like they were drops of molten metal that were red hot and leaving streaks of burns in my face as they fell below to whatever matter met them. The only sounds I could hear were my own sobs or sadness and remorse over a man I had barely knew. Even though on the inside, it felt like I had known him forever. After the tears stopped rolling off my face at an exponential rate, I eventually left to room to be in solitude, in my own room, all alone for the next few hours; but they didn’t settle my thoughts. For days to come I was in a depressive state and didn’t seem to have a single happy thought in my mind.

Years after that terrible day of truth and realization, I would still go to that dark depressive state whenever I thought about my father, from time to time. I would think what my life would be like if he were still here today. I could only begin to imagine the amount of stress that would be lifted off my shoulders. But even then, its only my imagination that I would go to to find a place of happiness and bliss; when in reality, I'm still still forced to deal with hardships in my everyday life: knowing that I am an only boy in a house of girls and a single mother. It’s like the feeling of hungry zombies constantly trying to beat down the door and get you, and when they bite, it’s all the stress I endure.

I try to find that one person that can replace my father’s place so I can share my feelings and thoughts with; to finally find that one person I can talk to for insight and wisdom, was like a godsend to me. But just when the feelings relax, the noose of stress and aloneness tightens around the neck of my feelings and chokes them into the opposite of what they originally were. Thus, a reflection of my state of mind I am currently in shows clear as day. Some people try to help me but its like trying to put keys in an unmatching lock; I grow weary of my sadness and loneliness becoming into an unbreakable tower and having no help. With every interval of time, my patience grows thin, and aggravation gets thicker.

This is why I am who I am; this is me, these are my feelings, and this is my struggle.