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My father died in the year 2003, when I was 11 years old. It was such a shock to my whole family, but I do believe that I took it the hardest of everyone. I was daddy's girl; I was attached to him at the hip whenever I did have the chance to see him.
My parents got divorced when I was only 2 years old, and my mother received full custody of my brother and I. Though, she had a huge grudge against my father for wanting a divorce, she still allowed him to see my brother and I every weekend or whenever he possibly could get around to seeing us. There was times though, I didn't see him for months, due to him being in jail for driving without a license multiple times. There was one period in time where I didn't see him for over 6 months.

When he was around though, he would take my brother and I for the weekends, and he would let my brother and I know that we were the best things that has ever happened to him and he loved us more than anything on the face of this Earth. He had a lot of depression issues, as well as drug issues... it seemed when my brother and myself were around, that was the only time that he had a true smile on his face.
Over the years, he tried to do so much better for himself as well for his children. He did seek help for his narcotic addictions and mental health issues. He was clean from drugs for the longest time; knowing that the more he did heroin, the shorter of a life he was going to live; and there was a chance of him not being able to see us grow up. I had the most respect for him for trying to help himself like that, I considered my father my hero!
Sadly, he met this woman he did get him back into drugs, and he died of a heroin overdose. I almost didn't believe it when my grandmother told me that she found his cold, body just laying there. For the longest time, I was told by my grandmother that he just had a heart attack and nothing really caused it; he died in his sleep. About a year or so after that, my mom made a few phone calls and found out that that was a lie. We found out that it was caused by narcotics. During this time period, I was falling faster and faster into a downward spiral, not being the once happy child that I use to be. I was experiencing things that a child shouldn't have to even think about. I was engulfed by darkness though. Feeling nothing but continuous pain and doing whatever I possibly could to make it subside even the slightest bit; turning to drugs also, crime and other unmentionable things. This was going on for years, me doing all of this and practically loathing everything around me.
Just recently though, I found myself. I don't know how it came about to be honest, but I did get a reality check. I realized that my father would never want me to be like this, he'd be ashamed of me. Out of the blue, I quit doing drugs, but I'm still to this day paying the consequences of my actions. That though, was by far the worst experience I have ever dealt with in my life, and by far the most painful. I never expected a death of a parent at such a young age to take such an affect on a person like that, especially me of all people. I didn't think that it was even possible. I just though that you cry a little bit and then it's over! Clearly, I was definitely wrong there!

Learn more about this author, Rachel Couch.
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