July 12, 2014

Dear JP, 

I can remember the exact moment that I got told you were gone. I wish I could tell you in person how much I wish you were here. Sometimes I just want to come home and tell you all about my day, but I can’t do that because you aren’t here. I know you were in a bad spot, but I always wondered why, why would you do that when you had kids? Were we not enough? Mom told me you had bipolar disorder, but I never realized how bad it was. 

  The moment I got told what you did was a moment I will never forget. I was sitting in what was going to be my new room because we were supposed to be moving away. Mom had told us you guys were going to get a divorce and that she was going to move to Texas so we could have both families together because Jake and I had a different Dad than Liberty and Tucker, which never really mattered anyways. I wished I would have argued it, stayed back with you and maybe things would have been different. But, within minutes my whole life would be changed forever, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

I was sitting on my bed, I hated the sheets because I hadn’t gotten my new ones yet, so they were an ugly brown color with a weird lacey texture at the ends. I was eating some lifesaver mints that I had taken from the pantry in the kitchen downstairs. Man, those things are good. I was watching something on my phone, probably killing my brain cells. I heard a knock on my door and quickly shoved what was left of the mints into the drawer of my nightstand that was on the right side of my bed. My biological dad and my step-mom said that they needed to talk to me and called my brother, Jacob, into my room. I knew right then and there that something bad had happened, their faces looked like they were about to give us bad news. It was the same face I got when my Mom told me that my cat died. Who had died? Was it one of the dogs? Did anything even die? Time seemed to slow down and never speed up. They sat down and told us the news, you had killed yourself that morning. I just sat there, I didn’t say anything. I wanted everyone to get out of my room so that I could sob and be alone. I could feel the tears start to drip down my face like waterfalls. I felt like the crybaby kid you always saw in the movies. The one no one ever liked. You were technically my step-dad, but I always called you Dad because that was what you were to me. 

Nothing was ever the same. 

Mom moved Jake and I back so we could support Liberty and Tucker, who were 6 and 4 at the time. I didn’t get to go to your funeral because of the expensive plane tickets. Could you imagine? Not being able to go to your funeral? That haunts me to this day. Mom says she's glad that we weren’t there because of how sad it was, but I never got to say my goodbyes. I still wish I got that chance. I’m scared that one day I’m going to forget what you look like. You always had a hat on, I don’t think I remember a moment when you didn’t. You usually had grease or some kind of stain on your shirt because you worked hard at your job to provide for the family. You always had this smell, even after a hard day at work, of your cologne. Isn’t it crazy how girls perfume lasts all of 3 seconds but your cologne lasted all day? You also had a beard, sometimes it would be crazy if you hadn’t cleaned it in a while. I miss that.  I miss everything about you.

The next couple of years were a blur. You never think about the impact this could have on you because you think “that will never happen to me.” But, it did. I did everything I could to help Mom, but she was too depressed to do much, as was I. I wanted you back so bad. Mom eventually sold the house you built for us because it was too hard for her to live there. I remember everything about the room you made me. It was the perfect size for all the stuff you got me. A comfy bed to make memories. I did everything in there. Made memories with my friends, watched movies with my siblings, and so much more. But, I also cried and sobbed over you in there. It became a space for me to get stuck in my thoughts. Had it been my fault? Could I have done anything to stop it? I sat on the pink paisley sheets with my head laying on the fluffy, sparkly, purple pillow you had gotten me for Christmas one year and just wondered. Maybe I could have done something, but I will never know because you aren’t here for me to ask you. 

I think about you all the time. But, I think of you a lot while going from place to place in the car. You wouldn’t know this car because we got the jeep after you did what you did. I think about you while sitting in the back left seat. This is my seat even though Tucker doesn’t think so. The wind ruining my just done hair as the doors and roof are completely gone with only the cage to help us if something bad were to happen. I think about what it would be if you were here? Would we even have this car? Would I be tucking my phone in the back of the drivers seat so it wouldn’t fly away? Would I make sure my buckle is extra tight even though I know I won't fall out of the car if I just do it normally. These small what-ifs come over me like a storm, and I don’t know if they’ll ever stop. 

Mom told us that you had a painless death because of how you did it. Carbon Monoxide poisoning. But, how do they know that you weren’t in pain? They weren’t you. I didn’t talk about it for a really long time because I was ashamed. I'm not really too sure on what I was actually ashamed about. Maybe because some people blamed Mom leaving you as the cause. I still don’t know why.

It took me a little over 4 years to read your note. I didn’t even know you had one for a couple of those years. It wasn’t what I was expecting. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting at all, but definitely not what I read. But, I sat there, reading your unread thoughts. I was thinking you were going to say goodbye but all you talked about was how Mom was going to be leaving and you didn’t know how to not be our provider, it's who you were. I remember reading it for the first time, the writing seems choppy like something was pulling you back from writing. The round brown coffee stains from where you set the coffee on the paper while you were writing your goodbyes. The white piece of paper with light blue lines almost didn’t seem real. I could almost picture you writing it. Your rough hands gliding the pencil across the paper. Maybe you were trying to decide whether you should do it or not. 

There is a large, shiny, silver trunk that has a special spot in our front room. Although in plain sight, it’s closed off from the world. In it we put all of the things from the day of your funeral. One day, we will open it and the memories will come flooding back. Will they smell musty and old? Will they smell like the funeral parlor? Will it still smell like you? The you I remember when I jumped to give you a hug when you got home from a long day at work? Maybe it will never be opened, kept hidden in plain sight. 

The one thing I regret is not making memories with you. Sure, we made some with the Florida trip when I was 5 and we did some other fun little things. But, as I got older I didn’t spend as much time with you as I probably should have. By doing what you did, you showed me that I can’t take the people in my life for granted because they might not always be there.                                              

                                                                         Love, Austin