Well, Nov 7, was exactly 7 years since my father has passed awa. It was a little bit of a rough day, I tried to keep my spirits up, especially at work, I think I got through the day pretty well. I don't really think anyone noticed that anything was bothering me, so that was good. I don't really like talking about what happened that day too much. I stopped by mr dad's grave on my way home for a few minutes. I saw that my sister had already been there earlier that day. As time has gone by, it has gotten a little easier to cope with the whole situation. I think it bothers my sister a little more than it does me now. I miss my father very much, and oh how I wish I could turn back the hands of time to change things, but I know I can't. It's something that You never get over.
I really wish Steven was here to help me cope with things.
Here's an excerpt from one of my sister's blogs telling the story of what happened.
The day my life took a drastic turn, however, would come soon after.
November 7, 1998 is a day I will never forget, I was twelve then. (And for some strange reason I have the yearning to tell this like a story) My friend, Nicole, had spent the night at my house the night before. She and I had been sleeping soundly when my mother came in to wake us up. I recall her asking if we wanted to go out for breakfast, and since going out to eat was a rare thing in my family, we were quick to jump at the chance! So,as quick as we could, we dressed, brushed our teeth and then were pulling on our socks when the door bell resounded throughout the house. I don't quite remember if it was myself, or my sister who had answered the door, but either way I was there watching.
The door opened to reveal an elderly man, dressed in the typical police uniform and his much younger partner. I still don't remember their names however. We followed them to the dinnin room where my mother sat, eyeing her then the two policemen with obvious curiousity (I think Nicole was watching from my bed room at the time). However, we were not allowed to stay and listening in as we (meaning my sister, her boyfriend, and I) were instructed to go to our rooms. So we did. I knew something was wrong, and I was quite sure it had something to do with my father. So, instead of shutting my door, I left it cracked, and sat on the floor near it just within hearing range. Nicole stood across from me, and I would cast her a glance. She was intently starring at the door, tryin to listen as well. I'm not quite sure if there were any dialogue before those frightening words were heard, but I do remember everythin afterwards.
"Mrs. Jusino," the elder of the two cops stated as he took the offered chair adjacent to the mother, "This morning, at 7:38, you're husband took his life..."
That was what the man had said, and I had found myself starring at my knees with unbelieving eyes. Nicole was watching me, I knew she was. Next door, I could hear my sister, she had started to cry...
"What do you mean?" my mother inquired, obviously taking as, perhaps, some cruel joke.
"He took his pistol," the police explained, or was in continueing? I don't quite know," and shot himself in the right temple."
"I don't understand," mother would state again, no signs of tears or remorse for her husband resounding from her voice. "I just talked to him last night."
I don't quite remember much else of the dialogue, as a heard the footsteps thud off the carpetted floor. The younger cop, whom had accompanied the latter, stopped at my sisters room to see if they had heard. I, having strangely enough been afraid to be caught near the door crawled to the middle of my room and sat there instead. Just seconds later the same cop knocked on my room door, before quietly peering in.
"You heard?" he was ask us, only to reviece a numb nod.
I lifted my gaze to peer at my friend, who still stood against my wall, her own tears for the man she had come to love as another father streaming down her cheeks. Her gaze shifted then to the door, as my sister and her boyfriend helped themselves in.
Julia, my sister, seemed to be utterly devasted by this news, and cried several tears into the pinstripped polo shirt of her boyfriend, Derek. I remember the GI reaching out a hand for me to come join them, but I simply shook my head. It was then I felt my own tear. But it had only been one, I couldn't muster up any more. To be honest, I still feel guilty for not crying at the time (Nicole still says she was shocked to see I hadn't cried). The fact was, I was in utter shock.
The man I wanted to grow up to be, had killed himself? I didn't understand it. I remember, later that day, sitting outside on our swing. It was such a pretty day too. The sky was blue, dotted with white clouds, it hadn't been too hot, nor too cold. Just perfect. I remember seeing the house on the corner of the next street over (which is still easily viewed from our porch) and hearing laughter. And I thought it was funny. Funny how things liked this happened everyday, and no one seemed to even notice.
I remember goin to school the next week, where my sister had stayed home. I wanted to go to school, staying home just hadn't appealed to me. It probably wasn't a good idea, because it was in my band class that the shock seemed to wear itself out. It was then that I realized Daddy wouldn't be there for my Christmas concert, which was only a few weeks away, like he had promised me. Nor would he be able to help me enter Highschool, or even see me graduate. He had lied to me. And even as I made these realizations, I couldn't cry.
The first time I would cry, would actually be at the funeral. It was an open casket ceremony, and many of the church members for our church (Korean Presbeterian Church) had shown up. I recall sitting on those benches, listening to my grandmother cry and cry, and watching my sister do the like. I shook my head, and decided to go outside (after my sister had spotted the mistress my father had infact been seeing, and my Aunt told her to leave). I was standing outside, simply watching the red headed nurse as she cried at her car. It was then that my brother (who took leave from the Army to attend the funeral) ame outside. I remember his words, and knew he meant well. But I also realized he thought me truely naive, then again I had yet to really cry, and I was only twelve.
"I know you don't understand what is going on," he would say, with good intentions, "but you'll eventually understand."
Eventually he'd lead me back inside, just as people made their final farewells. I remember watching my grandmother crying, giving her son a light peck on his lips before crying all the way back to her pew where she would be comforted by her daughter. I remember my brother asking me if I wanted to go up there. I had stared at the body of my father from where I stood, he had looked like he was sleeping. Even had a content smile on his face. And I wanted to go up there, really, I did. But I shook my head no. I couldn't bring myself to say good bye to the man who always made me laugh. And it was as the church choir began to sing that I began to cry, and I couldn't stop. Even though my father wasn't exactly a faithful husband, and maybe didn't even love my mother, he loved his children. All of them (including the ones we knew nothing about until a few months later- I found I had a half sister in Ohio named Carol). And did what he could to give them what they needed, even if he had nothin to really give. He was a real dad, despite it all. And he was gone, and not just for a week. Or the night. He was gone forever.
No comments:
Post a Comment