A Narrative

This is a narrative written by a Commerce Student, based off of their own experiences.

It was March 27, 2010. It was around eight at night. I was on my way back home after spending the day with my dad. Let me rewind some: my mom and my dad have been separated all my life, and came to the arrangement that he would have me on weekends, and she would have me on holidays and weekdays. It had been months since I last saw my dad. I missed him tremendously; I’m a daddy’s girl and was my world. When I finally called him, I found out he had undergone back surgery the day prior. I was never notified. There was a time when I would call and end up with my feelings hurt. I used to get yelled at for even calling because we always knew the outcome, so I just stopped all together.

That weekend that I called him, I couldn’t go because I was suspended that prior week. My mom said I could go the following weekend, the weekend of March 27, 2010. My dad picked me up early in the morning on Saturday. Birds were chirping and the sun was shining as we left Holyoke and headed toward Forest Park. We spent the entire day together making up for lost time. My sister’s children were there at the time, enjoying one another’s presence. Whenever it got too late, I would stay over to go to church with him the next morning- but not that night!!

He had been upstairs crying and yelling due to the pain from his stitches, asking my stepmom to help relieve the pain. He had gotten into an argument with my stepmom because she was taking too long preparing the meat for Sunday dinner the following day, rather than taking care of him.

While preparing the meat, she snapped, and pulled a butcher knife on my dad. Walking into his room, crying, she threatened to stab him. I begged and begged and cried and screamed grabbing her with so much force her sweater was giving me cuts on my fingers. All he wanted was for her to rub the stitches in his back, I kept saying, he just needs your help. Upset by situation, my dad wanted me to go home. As unusual as it was for me to be going home so late, I left. On our way out the door, he picked up my nephews prescription that had to be filled at the pharmacy. We hadn’t even made it out of Forest Park, when the cops flagged us down for speeding. Unable to understand at the time that my dad had a suspended license and refused to be fined for pulling over, I pleaded with him to pull over. He wasn’t responding; he was talking to my stepmom on the phone. Driving with stitches must have been painful, and I kept asking him if he was okay. Meanwhile, we were still speeding away from the cops.

Finally, we ended up crashing into a person’s house on Grenada Terrace, where my dad was pulled out of the driver’s window and beaten by the cops. All the while, I’m trying to stop them, screaming “Stop! He’s going to die”. Meanwhile, my dad is trying to communicate that he has stitches from his surgery. They didn’t stop until the officer felt me attempting to pull the gun out of his holster. Seconds later, they radioed for an ambulance. By the time it arrived, they founding him lying in my arms, dead.

I got into the ambulance with him, and drove to the hospital. Once we arrived, I sat out in the waiting room, waiting for family to arrive. His parents were called, who in turn called my mom; they were notified upon arrival. At that point, all I wanted to was to go home. Once there, I stared at the wall for hours at a time in silence, incapable of eating, sleeping- only of crying. I was numb to what had just happened, unable to truly comprehend that my world as I knew it was over.