Being raised southern and in a small-town, roots usually run deep. My family was not broken. My mother was a stay at home wife and took care of her family as well as our home. My father did exactly what fathers do, he worked and supported his family finacially and morally. I started going to church regularly with my older brother as a child. My parents were not the every sunday church going type of parents. God had a different plan in place regarding my brother though, I will get into more about him later. He got me in church and we regularly went and participated in everything we could. That is where my relationship with God started to root. Thanks to the influence of my brother. Don’t get it confused, my parents believe in God they just was not active in a church family. Regardless though, through my life God has blessed me so much more than I deserve and continues to do so everyday. So how did I get on the path to destruction with addiction? What caused me to slip into this deep dark place of despair? My answer may surprise some but others that are familar it may not. It was a void in my life that caused me to plumet. I was twenty-six years old when I lost the person that I thought was invinsible. Never did the thought cross my mind that the man that raised me, my dad, would die. I am not saying that I did not know about death, but it was not something that was ever really discussed in my home. My dad was fifty-six years old when he passed away. He had went through is second open heart surgery in October of 2005. During that time he was in the process of getting on disability and was waiting on insurance plans to come through; personally my thoughts during that time frame was he did not get the best of care because of money. In the end, he ended up being placed in hospice care at home. That was in January of 2006. They had given him 24 to 48 hours to live but the stubborn man in him said another thing. I remember all of us standing around my dads bedside when he was on hospice at home and him saying he did not want to die. He did not want to leave his family. He fought like hell but he ultimately lost. It was almost three weeks later when he passed, February 9, 2006. At that time I rented a house next door to my parents. My mom had told my husband at the time that my dad had not been doing good that night and that I may want to come see him. So I got up that morning, and went to my parents house. It was around 7a.m., I walked in the room where my dads hospital bed was and he looked over at me and died. My mom was outside with my uncle smoking and it was just me. I stayed in there with him about ten minutes or so by myself trying to wake him or hear a heart beat or something. Nothing there were no signs of life so I just cried. I had to go and tell my mom and call my brothers and my sister to tell them. It was me, it had to be me I thought. I was tramatized by the whole senerio. At that moment, when I walked outside to tell my mother, it started to snow. And it continued until we buried my dad, then it stopped. There was a void in place of this invinsible man who help mold me for twenty-six years. The ignorance of not knowing how to deal with that void is what lead me on my self-destructive path. That being said I cannot stress the importance of talking with your family about death. Don’t leave that subject undiscussed because the trama it can cause could be irreversable.