It was a cold Sunday Morning. I distinctly remember there being snow on the ground. That morning I woke up in the living room on the love seat and across the room from me was my mother on the couch. My father was laying in a hospital bed next to me in an induced coma from terminal kidney cancer. The room was dark and quiet, a little dreary but in a sense peaceful. My mother and I got up and I started to get ready for my baton competition that day. An hour after waking up my two brothers, Keith and Eric, arrived and proceeded into the living room and sat next to my father. After getting ready, I came downstairs to grab something quick to eat, and then greeted my brothers while waiting for my friend, Jennifer, to pick me up. When she arrived she blew the horn and I yelled to everyone that I was leaving and said goodbye, not knowing that my life would be changed the next time I came home.

We walked into the hall where the competition was being held and headed over to the stage to put our stuff down and get situated. All of the baton teaching staff, including myself, was called onto the stage to take our yearly picture. After the picture we had some time before the event started, so we stood in a group and made small talk so time would go by faster. About fifteen minutes later our head instructor came over and the look on her face showed that something was wrong. She looked at me and said “my mother is going to take you home”. It didn’t strike me until a few seconds later and then I knew what was wrong. I looked at her and asked “did it happen” and she just simply nodded. My father had died. I calmly packed up all of my belongings and hurried across the banquet hall’s floor trying not to scare anyone or panic. My mind was racing and all I could think about was how my mom was handling it, and how bad I felt that I could not be there when it had happened to comfort her.  As soon as I hit the doors I burst out crying. Finally I collected myself and got into the car to go home. Surprisingly, I did not shed even a single tear on the way home but, there was a knot in the pit of my stomach and I was dreading what I would see when I got home.

I arrived home and slowly entered my house. I was surprised to see how many of my family members had already arrived there in the amount of time since it had happened. I looked into the living room and saw my brothers and mother crying leaning over the hospital bed where my father’s corpse lay. I felt the tears start to come slowly and then all at once. My mother and brothers all came into the kitchen to hug and to comfort me. They kept telling me that it was okay and that I should go in and see him but I refused. At that time I felt so overwhelmed and distraught that I just wanted to escape. After about ten minutes I calmed myself down and went up stairs to change out of my baton uniform and into something more comfortable like jeans and a sweatshirt. I came back down and entered the room where the body was. I threw myself on top of him and started to sob. I said my goodbyes and then backed away to let everyone else say theirs. The undertakers came and he was gone. My mother and I watched as they drove away and I heard her say “what a perfect day to go, it is Palm Sunday after all”. I learned a few things that day. There is no better support system than family, and the love you feel for someone who is important to you is eternal.