Muted

Chapter 3

Warning ⚠️: talk of suicide and mental illnesses

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Once I got to the graveyard, I was so nervous. The last time I had been here, I was eleven. I'm eighteen now. I did my best to stay away from my fathers grave because it upset my mother every time. Yes, she is a very good mother, but every time I step one foot into this graveyard, she becomes distant for days. It hurts her because she blames herself for his death. It hurts her because she believes that my dad, even in his new life, is upset with her. She was there the night he died, and I was with my grandpa.

You see, my dad is simply what a grownup would call a hero, and what a child would call an 'army man'. He had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, also known as PTSD. He started drinking and would stay out at ungodly hours of the night. He would come home, sit in front of the TV and just sit in his own little state of mind. His PTSD got so bad to the point that if everything got silent, he would put his back to a wall and tell my mother and I to do the same because, "Everything dangerous happens when it gets quiet."

Even though my dad suffered hard because of the games his mind played with him, he would do everything in his power to make sure my mother and I were happy and safe. We lost all of that happiness and sanctuary the day he killed himself. His PTSD had gotten the best of him.

I remember that night. It's always the clearest memory I have:

My mom was cooking my dads favorite, pasta with garlic butter sauce. She was also sign singing to me, "My sweet little flower, how you're so special to me," over and over again while I was laughing at her happiness. She put down the tongs and answered the phone right next to her. "Hello," I saw her mouth. "It's you're dad," she signed to me with a smile. "Wait what's going on? Frank! Honey what's happening," I saw her mouth say through the phone. Her smile dropped and she turned around so I couldn't see the words flow from her lips anymore. I waited and waited for that phone call to end so I could know what was happening. After a good five minutes I saw my mom grab the kitchen sink to catch her fall, but she still fell to the ground.

She was crying, hard. She opened her eyes and the what she told me next made me know something bad had happened. "Go to your room! Now! Go get a change of clothes, I'm taking you to your grandparents house." I knew whatever had happened was bad because I never stay at my grandparents unless I want to. Tonight was family night and I didn't want to stay with my grandparents.

My mom stood up from the ground and told me to hurry. I did as I was told for I didn't want to upset her anymore. I grabbed everything necessary and a stuffed owl my dad had gotten for me before he went to Afghanistan. I was rushed out the door that my mom had forgotten to lock that night. My dad was always hung up on keeping us safe and that simply was not safe.

Once I got to my grandparents house my mother started calling for my grandmother, Edith. My grandpa was never close with my dad for grandpa Lionel was not my dads real father. My father was adopted because my grandma could not have kids, and my grandpa didn't want kids. So whatever was happening with my dad at the moment, my grandpa didn't care.

My mom and my grandmother rushed out the door without giving me an explanation. I didn't get an explanation until the day of the funeral. No one told me he died until the day if the funeral, but to make matters worse, no one told me he shot himself while on the phone with my mother until two years later.

I was eleven when I stopped coming here, but that does not mean I ever stopped thinking about him. My dad was my best friend after all.