“I’ll be home around 7:30,” said my dad, “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” I replied.

Friday, December 21st, 2012. It was the week before Christmas; I got up and went to school with my best friend Klaree as I normally would any other weekday. It was cold. I remember thinking to myself “Today is going to be bad I can already tell,” all because I had only gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before. My little brother Jack had ridden the bus, my mom went to work, and my dad had already been at work since Monday morning. My dad is a crane operator. The distinct smell of both copenhagen long cut and motor oil linger on my dad at all times, no matter how many times he showers. My dad doesn’t like to not work, he always has to be off doing something.

Fridays are the days that he gets to come home after being away since Monday morning. It was his last Friday for the next 3 months. My dad was getting laid off for the winter. Earlier that week we had been fighting. Fighting about what? I’m not sure. It seemed as if we were always bickering about something, whether it was me not doing the dishes or him not listening to a word I said. We didn’t call or text each other all week. Friday I was still frustrated with him, but everything was normal that day. My dad texted me to let me know what time he was coming home Friday afternoon, and I went on with my day as I would any other. I had practice after school and was home by 6. My dad said he would be home not too much longer after that.

My dad's job site had been down around the Duluth and Cloquet, MN, area that week. My mom told me that my dad was going to have a couple drinks with his boss, before he came home; to celebrate their last day of work until the next Spring. Usually we wait to make dinner for my dad to get home so he can have some as well, but he called my mom and told her he would be back later than planned and not to wait up for him.

After dinner was over, I remember looking out the window for a good 15 minutes. I was watching the light white flakes fall from the sky, not disturbing anything, and disappearing as soon as they reached the ground. The flakes reminded me of my dad, but not all in similarity. My dad is a very quiet man; he has been since he came back from Iraq. He only really talks when spoken to, but even then it’s light, faint, almost as if you’re talking to yourself. He disturbs the peace with some of his words and his actions, but he slowly disappears after. As if he’s not even there. The sky looked as if it were just one big black hole, trying to swallow me and my thoughts. There weren’t any stars, or moon. It seemed as if only a cold breeze and light flakes were in the air. I left the window and I kept on with my homework. My mom and Jack were in Jack's room working on his geography project. I remembering hearing my mom say “I haven’t heard back from your dad in a while; he should be home fairly soon,” to Jack.
The house phone began to ring, sounding louder and louder each time.

“Hello?” said my mom.
“Hi, is Laura available?” said the man on the phone.
“This is her, can I help you?”
“Hi, Laura. This is the Cloquet police…”
I could hear my mom as she began to cry, trying her hardest to choke back her tears and listen,
“I hate to tell you this, but your husband has been in an accident,” the policeman said,  “He is being brought to the Cloquet hospital shortly.”

I was nervous. I had never seen my mom this scared. I began experiencing a bitter taste in my mouth. I then realized, it was the bitter taste of iron. I had bit my lip so hard that my mouth was full of it. When my mom came up the stairs, I tried to pretend like I hadn’t overheard the phone call. I had a feeling of confusion, and I didn’t understand what my mom was trying to tell me. She wouldn’t tell me if my dad was dying, incapable of breathing on his own, or just fine. I didn’t feel sad that my dad had been in this accident, it was more of a slight relief feeling than anything else. It was as if I just heard about an accident on the news about a complete stranger. Part of me was hoping that he would be okay, while the other half wasn’t phased by it at all.

I could feel myself getting lost in my emotions, or rather the emotions I was thinking that I should have felt. Everyone around me was crying, but I didn’t cry. I didn’t know how to. I didn’t feel sorrow, I felt more disappointed than anything. I could only think of how if worst came to worst I wouldn’t feel affected, because my dad felt almost as just a shadow. There just because that’s how it happened to be. I felt worse about not feeling sad than I did about my dad actually being in the accident. Mostly confused, I just stood there like nothing was happening. Everything around me seemed to be moving so slow. It was like a bomb just went off, I couldn’t hear anything, things just got foggy and I could just see people running around me in chaos. My mom kept telling me over and over that things would be okay, but I let it in one ear and out the other. I think she only kept repeating it to remind herself, not me. It seemed as if all my emotions and feelings had been stripped from me and I had no control over it happening.

“Dad had a head-on with a semi, I have to leave,” said my mom.
“Is he okay?” I replied.

My mom was too busy running around, packing a bag and crying to answer me.

Klaree came over to keep me company and comfort me, while her mom went with my mom to the Cloquet ER. My mom left me with little information on how my dad was doing. I was 14; I didn’t know how to handle it. Klaree tried to make me food, but I could not even force myself to eat it. The smell and thought of food made me nauseous. I tried to continue on with my homework to try and get my focus back. I was working on a math worksheet when suddenly I realized there was blood dripping all over my paper. I had cut my finger right open, without even noticing. My whole body felt numb, I couldn’t feel anything, and I couldn’t focus on my homework no matter how hard I tried. Klaree got me a bandaid for my finger.

That night I didn't get much sleep. I woke up the next day to my dog barking and barking until I finally got up and unlocked the door for my mom. She came in the house, sat down, and explained what all happened. My dad had gone to the bar to celebrate winter layoff with his co-workers. On his way home, he dozed off and went into the other lane. The silver van we all once loved, was demolished into a big ball of black and silver metal. My dad would be okay physically, just two black eyes and sore from the impact of the airbags. My mom kept repeating how it was a miracle that my dad was still alive. The doctors and police officers were even in shock that he survived and had no major injuries. If it weren’t for his seatbelt and the fact that he had not been awake, his chances of survival would have been slim.

Accidents come with consequences. Unfortunately my dad’s came with multiple; physically, mentally, and all around life changing. Now looking back at it I have realized that my dad’s car accident was the best and worst thing to happen to him since he had been back from overseas. The accident unveiled my dad’s biggest secret. He was an alcoholic for 7 years. My dad would drink himself into oblivion after work every night, that was his way of coping through his pain. None of us knew that it was so severe, not even my mom. My dad had everyone blinded.
I realize now that his unhappiness and silence came from when he was home wasn’t because of me or the rest of my family remembers. It was the fact that he didn’t have something to numb the pain and make him forget about it all. He had pain, and the only time he had to truly face it was when he was home. My dad put himself into treatment as soon as possible and was finally able to let go of his tight, silent, grip on the bottles neck.

My dad and I weren’t very close after he came back from Iraq a few years prior to his accident. With the little understanding that I had of the situation, I distance myself from him even more. I avoided any contact. I felt like I lost what I had left of my dad. Even though he was physically still there, it didn’t seem any more than that. My dad rarely talked to begin with, but after the accident it was almost as if it was an on going silent game. I didn’t know how to talk to a man that once was the only thing I knew and looked for, who was now almost just a figure. In the end of it all, my way of coping which seemed easiest at the time made things worse. I would always find myself unsure of what it was, mindlessly blaming myself repeatedly over things I couldn’t comprehend. The accident was not only eye opening for my dad but also for the rest of us.