Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Strength for tears. Gladness for Mourning. Peace for Despair.

On December 26th, 2009 the love of my life proposed marriage in the pouring rain on the edge of the ocean in San Francisco, California.
Kris became my sanity, the calm in my storm. We set a date, June 12th. The next 6 months most of my days consisted of sitting on my bed surrounded by piles of wedding magazines or on my laptop googling wedding ideas. Not having my mom around was tough. I called her constantly for her opinion and ideas. Then one day I googled "beach weddings." I came across a website ran by a destination wedding coordinator in San Diego, CA....as I scrolled down the page I saw "Coronado Beach." I had already made up my mind. 
Some of my fondest memories with my father were made on Coronado Island. Our family took several summer vacations there and it was always our dream to stay at Hotel Del Coronado. It was one of my favorite places. 
The website gave information on a wedding package where the couple would be married on the beach in front of the hotel. When I took the idea to Kris I tried to explain it in the most delicate way, assuming he wouldn't go for it. But, without even the slightest hesitation, he was on board! He loved the idea!


The big day was upon us, as I stood barefoot on the sidewalk out of the guests sight, I couldn't help but feel a little sad. It would not be my father walking me down the isle but mother. She stood in for him that day as she gave me away to my groom. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way, as she had been the example of strength I needed to get through the past year. I held her hand tightly as we made our way down the sandy isle, towards my future husband. I had always imagined that on my wedding day it would be my own father marrying my husband and I, but as I took my husbands hand and faced the minister, I was comforted to see my new Pastor standing there. I realized in that moment that God had meticulously placed this man in my life. Pastor Stacey Wiley and his wife had become not only my spiritual mentors, but the family I so longed for.
I had reserved time in the ceremony to memorialize my father. The wedding coordinator suggested I keep it simple and try not to do anything that might make people cry or become emotional. This woman had obviously never lost someone so close to her, so I politely told her not to worry about it, that I would decide was appropriate. We decided to each take a white rose and walk out to the edge of the beach and throw the petals into the ocean while playing one of my favorite songs, "Make you Feel my Love" by Adele. The moment was perfect. I watched as the tide came and carried the petals back into the ocean. I imagined the tide was God, and the petals my dad, as they floated out along the peaceful waters. I hoped he was at peace now. I asked God to forgive me for the days that I blamed him for what happened, and to help me forgive my father. I closed my eyes fighting back tears as I made a promise to my father that I would try my very best to live a happy life, just like he had wanted. I turned back towards the chairs filled with my family, my new family, old friends, and new friends, and I saw all that God had given me. I knew it wouldn't be easy but he had given me the tools I needed to move on with my life. And although there was a speck of sadness in my heart because my daddy was missing from that day, I felt more joy than I had in a very long time.
June 12th, 2010 was a day of healing. I was about to start a new life as a wife. The value in being a Godly woman had a whole new meaning to me. I was finally able to grasp what God had been trying to show me for a year. No where in the bible does God say "live for me and your life will be easy" but he does say "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness." Life is hard, no one ever said it was easy, but I stand on his word knowing he will never give me more than I can bear. God allows us to go through things so that we might be a testimony. Each day is a struggle, some days worse than others. Like when the anniversary of his death comes, or his birthday draws near. Even as I let my new baby girl help heal my heart, I still feel the hole that was left when my daddy took his life. But I have found peace and strength in my heavenly father. I cannot tell you how many times I have made my way to an altar, weak and weary, asking God for strength to make it through the week. I have felt his loving arms around me, filling my soul with comfort. It hurts my heart to hear people say that they don't believe in Jesus Christ. I sometimes wish that they were able to walk in my shoes for a while so that they might feel his presence like I do every single day and know it is because of his grace and mercy that I am here. I wish I could make them comprehend that I am happy today because of the Joy HE placed in my heart. 
Now, two and a half years later, I thank God for where he has brought me from, and I am truly proud of my testimony. I am a stronger person because of it. I learned to have complete faith in Christ, knowing that he has brought me this far for a reason. I am blessed to say that God has been better than good to me.
 I am a living testimony of God's perfect strength. 

Friday, March 9, 2012

Fork in the Road

In the following months I found myself tormented by guilt and loneliness. Everything happened so fast. My dad was dead and my family gone all in less than a month and a half. I struggled with making the decision to stay in Arizona. When everything was said and done, it was just too hard for me to continue attending my dad's church. Seeing his empty chair up on the platform was too painful. In making the decision to leave, I became even lonelier considering my life long friends whom I fellowshipped with multiple times a week were now people I only saw every so often. I began attending Worship & Word, the church my husband attended. I was very close with Pastor Wiley and his family and I truly loved the church, but I had a hard time finding friends like I had at PRC, as there weren't many my age.
I also had almost no family here. My great aunt and uncle lived in Phoenix, and a few cousins in Casa Grande but spending time with them was rare. As I mentioned before I was living with my husbands sister and brother-in-law, which was my saving grace. I loved them both dearly and grew very close with their daughters who were already calling me their auntie ken. I also adored Kris's entire family who were all so loving and kind to me. They continuously went out of their way to make me feel apart of the family. Although this made it bearable, it was not enough to mend my heart. 
Work became miserable for me. It was a very slow branch and I had too much time to get lost in my thoughts. I kept myself distant from my coworkers only fueling my self inflicted isolation. At times I would be driving and would start to cry. The cries would quickly turn into all out screams of anguish. I would be so overcome with emotion and as my vision blurred with tears I would pull over...sometimes even on the freeway at night. I would beat the steering wheel and scream "Why God!" On the verge of hyperventilation, I would eventually regain composer.
Most nights after work I would pick up dinner, come home and stay in my room till I cried myself to sleep. I would try to talk to Kris about how I felt but he couldn't even begin to comprehend what I was going through. He looked at me with pity in his eyes and I could see the helplessness written all over his face. I hated that look. It was a look everyone was giving me, when I went to work or church...it made me feel like I had the words "MY LIFE IS TRAGIC" stamped on my four head. I felt like no one could even have a normal conversation with me because they didn't know what to say, like I might burst into tears and have a meltdown if they said the wrong thing. This led to many awkward moments between myself and people I had known for years. I didn't want people to feel sorry for me because I wanted so badly for them to believe I was strong and above everything that had happened to me. Even though that was far from the truth. This time in the grieving process was the hardest as my emotions ranged from hopelessness to pure rage. One day I would be sad and melancholy, and the next I wanted to spend the entire day beating a punching bag. I recall one night my husband and I had gone to our gym which was and MMA boxing class and it was my turn to hit the bag. One hit after another I became livid, then suddenly a flood of tears came pouring down my face. I excused myself from the class embarrassed that I had lost control.
Still having a hard time deciding if my decision to stay was the right one or not, I distinctly remember a conversation Kris and I had. We were sitting in my room and I told him I just didn't know if I could stay. I told him how guilty I felt for not going with my mom. "She needs me," I said. But what I really meant was "I need her." We both cried and he asked if I felt we could have a long distance relationship...I cried even harder. My heart did not want to be more than 10 feet away from him, let alone thousands of miles. I was sick with confusion. We had not yet discussed marriage as I was only 19 but we both knew there would never be anyone else. I called my mom and told her how I was feeling, she told me I needed to stay, that Kris was a good man and I should not let him go. A couple of days later I told Kris I was staying, the relief on his face warmed my heart. Soon after our relationship took a more serious turn. 

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Leaving the Little Girl Behind

Arrangements were made for my father to be buried in Turlock, CA the following week. As the plane hit the ground in Sacramento I let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to be away from Arizona and everything that was left behind. My mother, sister, and I stayed in a hotel in downtown Modesto. It felt strange to be just the three of us. The time spent in California was to be the start of my grieving. I sunk into a deep depression. I felt sadness consume me like I had never felt before. 
The day of the burial wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. The casket was closed by the time we arrived and it was a beautiful day and the grounds were lovely. Many people came to pay their respects which once again, surprised me. My dads cousins, Phil and Stephanie King sang "I can Only Imagine" before my Uncle Charles spoke. It is a song that will always remain close to my heart. As I watched them lower my father into the ground I felt numb. I cried only a little that day. I think deep inside, my mother, sister, brother, and I were relieved it was all over and we could now begin the process of moving on with our lives.
My mother had already made the decision to move back to Modesto with my sister and were staying a little longer in CA than I was. As I packed my suitcase and got ready to head to the airport, I sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room staring out the window. I was going home to a place I never wanted to be again. A place that held the worst memory of my life. How was I going to do this by myself? I felt nauseous. I had a fantastic job and the love of my life waiting for me. But every fiber of my being wanted to stay right where I was, grasping tightly to my mothers hand. 
As I boarded the plane I swallowed the knot in my throat and tried to hold back the tears filling my eyes...despite my efforts, they came pouring as the plane took off. 
The next several weeks seemed like hell on earth. I went back to work at the bank and I felt so insecure. I was the girl whose dad killed himself. No one knew what to say to me, so they said nothing. I didn't know how I felt about this. A part of me was glad no one addressed the issue, but the sad girl inside of me wanted someone to ask if I was ok. But no one did, and I guess it was better that way. I went on about my life the best I could, but it wasn't easy. Everyday was a struggle and I wrestled with questions constantly running though my mind every minute of the day. 
When my mom and sister flew back into town I picked them up from the airport. Mom started packing while back in Modesto the family looked for a house for mom to buy. They found one and just like that she bought it. My birthday came and went as I really didn't feel like celebrating. August will always be a bitter sweet month for me. Then, on September 11, just 36 days after my dad died, my mom and sister moved to California.
I went to the house as they were loading up the car. My Nana was driving them back to Modesto because my mother was in no condition to drive the trip by herself as it was about an 11 hour drive. They packed the car as full as they could and left the whole house boxed up and ready for the movers. I hugged my mom tight not wanting to let her go. I was happy for them because I knew this is the only way they would survive and God had them in the palm of his hands. But as the car turned the corner and was gone from my view, I felt true loneliness for the first time in my life. I turned around and faced the house. As I stood in the driveway I tried to imagine what life was like before this happened. I let my mind wonder as I relived moments spent there, both good and bad. This was the defining moment of my life. The moment everything changed. My whole entire world would be different now. Who I was before this day was no longer the person that was standing on the pavement with the hot September sun beating down on my back. I was alone. I wasn't a child anymore. Barely 19 I was thrust into the reality that I had to grow up, and fast.
I took a deep breath and got in my car. I didn't know where to go or who to call. So I sat there in my car outside the house that I used to call home where my father killed himself. 

The First Goodbye

The morning of the funeral was another that passed by in a blur. My sister and I got ready at the hotel then headed the house. Mom was getting ready, dressed in all black she looked beautiful as always, but she still seemed vacant and out of sorts. At some point that morning mom let my brother and I read Dad's suicide note....it only proved the state of mind we assumed he was in before he took his life. My heart ached as I read the words. I wasn't satisfied. I guess I wanted more...an explanation. 
Reading the note only caused more anguish for what was to come that day. My sister and I both wrote something to read at the funeral, I told my sister I would read her for her because I knew when the time came it would be very overwhelming for her. 
We drove to the church in silence...I was nervous. I didn't know how to act or who would be there. I was most afraid to see his body again. 
Some ministers came out and ushered us in through the side door. I followed my mom as we walked to the front row of the church. I kept my head down as we made our way across the alter area.  When I looked up I almost let out an overwhelming gasp! The church was even more packed that it had been the night before. I saw familiar faces and faces i'd never seen before. It was comforting in a way, to see all the people mourning with my family. 
The service started almost immediately after we arrived. Many people spoke, Bishop Randy Keys, Pastor Stacie Wiley, just to name a few. It came time for us to address the crowd. First my brother spoke, then it was my turn, my sister walked to the pulpit with me which made me feel more at ease. I imagined I might cry but I did not. I pretended I was reading a speech at school. I even managed to make eye contact with the congregation.

Below are the letters, starting with mine....

My father, my pastor. there are no words to even begin to describe what an incredibly brilliant man my daddy was. He had such an amazing outlook on the things of God. I remember that he would research and study until the wee hours of the morning for one sermon. I wish so badly that I could hear him preach just one more message. He was so funny and quick witted...I loved going on roadtrips with him because he would tell us the funniest stories about him and his brothers and how he was the highschool hearthrob and how he managed to finagle my mom into marrying him and becoming the wife of a preacher. His humor has carried me through many rough mornings when we would sit on the couch and drink Coffee...he was so wise. No matter the advise, or what it was for, it was always exactly what needed to be done...when i would follow dads advice my situation would take a turn for the better...and if i didn't.....well let's just say i should have always listened to daddy.
On August the 6th, of 2009, God took a facsinating man from us all. He was my pastor, my daddy, and my friend. there will never be another like him. I promise to tell share his story of the life he didicated completely to the Lord. His works have spread across this nation and live in many hearts today. i morne for the loss of a man who cannot be duplicated but will be forever missed. I pray that he is at peace and I am asking God for the strength to take another breath so that I may live my life in a way that would have made my father proud. all i ask is that God may grant me a husband and sons who are in likeness to my daddy, and that I might one day touch as many lives as he has.
I love you dad, Rest In Peace.

People say I was his budy. and I was. we shared interest in things that werent very important to most people. He would always talk to me about culture ,history and every smart little fact you could think of. I thought he was just a genius,and he was. he knew everything about everything . It seemed like he knew all the answers. Homework answers,bible answers,and even life answers. He would always ask me about my future and what I wanted to do.of course I answered different every time but he always showed as much enthusiasm as he did with my last career path. I will always remember the last trip my dad and I went on. We went to flagstaff and rode the ski lift. It was my first time and I was SCARED, but some how I couldn't help but feel safe with my dad hangin around. On our way up the mountain on the ski lift we talked about everything imaginable. and on the way down we took pictures with his camera. the scenery was beautiful and I can remember him reminding me that all the mountains and trees were all a creation of god. He asked me his usual question about my career choice. my answer surprised him. i told him all about my interest in going to college. and his face lit up like a christmas tree.the rest of the way down we talked about college possibilities. I can remember him being so proud of me and listening to me ramble on about school and what we learned but he always seemed enthralled with it all. In the end I think he was. to me my dad was a true man of god and a man who knew everything. He was kind hearted and a wonderful pastor,father,and huband. he will be missed but remembered.


The service was very long, lasting several hours. At the end as people started to line up to pay their respects, I felt overwhelmingly anxious. I knew that soon they would be closing the casket and that would be the last time I would see his face. 
The last few guests trickled out of the sanctuary and into the lobby. The ushers closed and locked the doors and all that remained was immediate family. I will never forget the sight of my sister bent over with her head in my dads chest as she weeped. I myself still could not bring myself to do more than lightly rest my hand on his arm. To this day I regret that. I wish I had the strength to do as my sister did and weep on my fathers chest.
They informed us it was time to close the casket...my mom asked for one last minute alone with him. I watched as kissed him and spoke softly. She backed away from him and took my hand. They began to close the casket in what seemed like movie time slow motion. I stopped breathing. As the casked shut, my mother nearly collapsed and let out an all too familiar scream. The realization of never seeing my fathers face again was like having my heart ripped from my chest.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Creating a Mask

As I stood there staring at him I could feel myself going deeper into shock. It was like I hit a cement wall that knocked the wind out of me. He was so white and I didn’t want to stand too close, I definitely didn’t want to touch him. How could my mother just touch him? Even my sister, she seemed to have no problem reaching her hand out and placing it on his chest. I didn’t want to believe that it was my dad laying there. That it was my dad that could do such a horrific thing.  Eventually we all took our own alone time with him while everyone else stayed near the back of the church. When my turn came I decided I didn’t want to go alone. I asked my brother to stay by me. He walked me back up to the front where my dad lay lifeless. I didn’t want to look at him while I talked. I looked down at the scar on my left thumb. I begun to tell him how much I missed him and how sad mom and Haley were. I told him I didn’t understand why he did what he did but that I hoped he wasn’t sad anymore. The tears started to pour down my face the more I spoke. “Dad,” I said, “I love this scar on my thumb because it will always remind me of our relationship.” With my arm tightly around my brother’s waist, I felt his body shake with sobs. When I was 17 I sliced my thumb open with a glass by accident and had to go to the emergency room. It was very late and we didn’t leave until almost 4am. My dad took me and didn’t complain once even though it was such a silly accident that had turned into such a long night for him. I knew he was tired and I felt so bad. When I finally went back to see the doctor the cut was very deep all the way to the bone. I needed 6 stitches and I was terrified. I remember grasping my dad’s hand tightly as my eyes welled up with tears. Later he told me he felt like we became closer in that moment. So did I. Now every time I look at the scar I am reminded of his protection and fatherly love. It makes me miss him more. I felt like a little girl again talking to my daddy and telling him how much I loved him. After a few minutes I had had enough, I felt so drained.
We all piled back into the van and the ride home seemed even longer than the ride there. The mood was heavy and tense. I held my breath waiting for one of us to break out into sobs. But on the contrary, everyone held it together. Looking back, I have to say that that was the worst day of the entire ordeal. At least for me. The only way I can describe it is literally nightmarish.
The night of the viewing was overwhelming. I don’t recall exactly what time it began, I just remember it lasting what seemed like all night. The people never stopped pouring in through the sanctuary doors. I didn’t know how to act or what to say. Was I allowed to smile at people I hadn’t seen in a long time? What was I supposed to say to all those people looking at me with pity all over their faces? I decided it was best to be the ever so composed pastors daughter I had always tried to be. “Hello, thank you for coming” I said with a half smile as I greeted people. I gave comforting hugs to those that cried on my shoulder…though I wasn’t sure if the tears they shed were for them or for me. I shared “small talk” conversations with people as no one really knew what to say to me. I found myself trying to make others feel comfortable and at ease rather than letting my emotions show all over my face. This behavior was the start of building a wall that I'm still trying to tare down. A wall made up of all sorts of layers such as bitterness, anger, sadness, depression, and lonliness. I found it was better to not let anyone see how I really was (even my family) than to hear advice, or get the “pity look” as I used to call it.
The night came to an end and I was mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. The past few hours had been a blur. After we left we went to Mimi’s cafĂ© with my family and Nathan and Serena Kesler. Nathan always made my mom laugh and that night was no different. I heard her laugh and my heart felt a little less heavy. I barely ate. As would become an unhealthy habit over the next year.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Aftermath

On Friday, I took my mom and sister back to the house. It was another day where the minutes passed like hours. Faces still came and went as the word of my father’s shocking death traveled through the nation. Friends and family started booking flights and soon enough they were filling our home with support and comfort. When my aunt Cindy, Nana and Papa finally arrived we all fell into their arms with tears of relief. My heart felt a little less heavy knowing they were there to take a load off of my mom and I knew I wouldn’t feel so helpless anymore.
I was lost. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself because I so wanted to see my mom and sister smile again. I felt that if my mom saw the pain on my face she would feel worse. I couldn’t handle seeing my family like this. I barely cried at all that day for fear I would never stop. At one point I had gone into my parents room to get something for my mom and I saw my sister sitting on the floor holding things of our dad’s and weeping. She had on one of his tee shirts again. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and I felt nauseous. I wanted so badly for her to be happy again. She was letting out all the emotions I was too afraid to let go of. My heart wanted to sit down next to her, lean my head on her shoulder and cry with her…but I quickly reminded myself that it was my job to be strong. I helped her up and told her she needed to rest. I walked her to her bedroom and as she curled up on the bed grasping these things tightly to her chest I spotted one of his watches on her wrist. She wore that watch every single day after that until I saw her months later, it was sitting on her nightstand. I told her that if these things made her so upset then she shouldn’t look at them…she closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep refusing to let them out of her hands.
I left the room and told my mom. It was obvious that Haley and I couldn’t handle being at the house anymore. Mom booked a hotel room so Haley and I checked in that night. My best friend Kylie agreed to stay there with us so we wouldn’t be alone. The hotel was very nice and quiet, I thought we would start feeling better now that we were away from the house. I was wrong. I remember walking out of the room where haley would seem fine and coming back a few minutes later to find her sobbing. Later that night while she was in the shower I called one of my best friends Kandra who was living in Oregon. She was flying out for the funeral in a few days and I couldn’t wait to have her next to me. As I spoke very calmly one minute, the next minute I was crying out “Why did he leave us Kandra?! Why did he do this to my mom and sister?” She cried too. It was the first time that entire day I had really cried. “I can’t believe this is happening” she said. No one could believe it. She promised to be here soon and we got off the phone. Later that night as I got ready for bed I closed the bathroom door and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Completely alone in my thoughts I contemplated what life would be like after all was said and done. I knew in my heart my mom would not stay in Arizona. But what about me? These were thoughts that tortured me even after my family was gone. I couldn’t imagine that any of us would ever be “ok” again, and if they were to leave me in Arizona would I ever be happy again?
It was time to go to the morgue. Pastor and Sis Wiley came to pick us up in their church van and we all piled in. Mom, Nana, Papa, Aunt Cindy, Zack, his wife Sylvia, Haley, Kristopher, and myself. The morgue was in downtown Phoenix and seemed to be the longest drive. We rode in silence fearful for what was to come. The place seemed very nice and looked like a church with a lobby, a chapel to the left and offices to the right. The Funeral director led us down the hall into a large room that had a huge table in the center surrounded by chairs, and dozens of casket samples sticking out of the walls. I was scared and didn’t know what to do with myself. I had a million thoughts swirling around in my head and my heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. I grasped tightly to Kristopher’s hand. In the middle of the room was a huge table with chairs. The family sat down while Kris and the Wiley’s stood in the corner of the room. The mortician was a man that had known us for a very long time and who used to attend our church many years ago. He asked us to please excuse him for being emotional, that this was a very difficult thing for him to do. We discussed the details of the viewing and funeral, what kind of casket we wanted for dad, and where he would be buried. I listened to my mom and brother speak while my sister and I remained silent. I glanced at Kris for support and he gave me an encouraging smile…but his eyes were filled with sorrow. It was a look that so many people would give me and that I would grow to hate. A while later we got up to look around the room at the different types of caskets. We all agreed on a beautifully designed one with what looked like pillars going up the side. My father always loved beautiful architecture, especially those with pillars (hence the design of PRC’s baptistery). After we were done planning he told us that we could see him now. Someone suggested that my mom go first, and alone.
We all gathered in another room down the hall as my mom was led to the chapel. Everyone stood in the room and hallway speaking quietly and nervously. Not even a moment later we heard a scream. It was the same scream I heard at the house that day. Everyone started to panic and my first thought was to get Haley outside. “Was that mom?!” she asked as I yanked her hand and started running down the hall. I looked back and saw the tears had already started to drip down her face. I called for Kris as we rushed Haley outside, I told him not to let her inside until I told him it was ok. By this time my brother had already ran into the chapel as I headed for the doors. I swung them open and saw at the very end of the chapel my mother lying over my father’s body. I only looked for a few seconds as I burst into to tears and turned away. It was the most heart wrenching thing for a daughter to see her own grieving mother laying over her father’s dead body. It was too much for me….I started hyperventilating as Sis Wiley led me to a chair and got me a cup of water. Kris and Haley finally made their way inside and I buried my face in Kris’s neck. After a while I calmed down and made my way back into the chapel with the rest of the family. My brother took my hand and led me up to where my dad was. I felt sick to my stomach. I looked at him lying there but didn’t get too close. I remember thinking that contrary to what people say, he DIDN’T look like he was sleeping.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

A Daughter Loses Her Father

It was another hot august day….a day of really no significance. I was working at the bank then and was still pretty new as I had only been there for about 2 months. That morning came and went like any other morning before that. I had lunch and sat back down at my desk a little before one pm. I was living with my now husbands sister and was planning on going to my parents that night for dinner. I thought I would give my mom a call to touch base with her. When my mom answered I knew something was wrong. She put me on hold right away. I heard her talking to a man but couldn’t really understand what they were saying. I heard her say “it’s my daughter.” She got back on the phone and said “Kendra you need to come home now.” “Now?” I didn’t understand. “Yes Kendra you need to come home now.” “But mom I’m at work I can’t just leave.” “Kendra you just need to head home” she said. “Mom what happened? Is everything ok?” She wouldn't answer me. I said I was on my way and hung up the phone. I told my co worker that something had happened at home and my mom needed me now. By this time I was already shaking and crying. They told me it was fine and to hurry home. I got into my car, tears pouring down my face, and dialed my boyfriend’s number. He was at work but he answered. “Something’s wrong at home I just left work” I sobbed.  He reassured me that everything was going to be ok and to please drive safe and call him when I found out what was going on. I hung up with Kris and called my mom again. I asked her a million questions “What happened? Is everything ok with Zack? Is dad sick?” She wouldn’t answer. Suddenly I heard another voice get on the phone. It was Tina Wilson, a close friend of the family and my fathers church secretary. “Kendra, its sister Tina…listen to me you need to get home as quickly as you can. We just need you to drive safe.” I cried even harder because I knew that if people from the church were at my home something was very wrong. I hung up with Tina and called my brother. Maybe he knew what was going on. He didn’t answer. I wanted to scream! I didn’t know what to do but drive. I called my future sister in law Kristy Cooper. I told her what was happening and she immediately prayed with me. I remember that prayer was probably the only thing that go me home. I cried the whole way there and kept screaming “Not my daddy! Please God don’t take my daddy!” I think in my heart I already knew he wasn’t here anymore.
As I turned the corner into my neighborhood my heart was pounding. What was I going to see when I turn the corner and saw my house? Was I overreacting? I turned the last corner as my house came in to view. The first thing I saw was yellow tape. The house was taped off like a crime scene. There were cop cars everwhere and I saw the white coroners truck. My heart that was pounding so hard one second ago had stopped beating. I parked across the street and ran out of my car. Tina and our assistant pastors wife Corina Flores ran up to either side of me. I collapsed. They practically carried me out of the middle of the street and I kept crying “please tell me what happened to my dad!” My mom ran towards me “My baby!” I collapsed in her arms. I cried from the pit of my stomach and I couldn’t breathe. A woman in a pantsuit came over to us. “This is my daughter Kendra” my mom told her. She looked at me with the most emotionless expression on her face. “Hi Kendra my name is _______. I am a family counselor with the Avondale police department. I’m very sorry to tell you this Kendra but your father commited suicide today here in your home………..” Everything froze. I don’t know if she kept talking, everything became silent only for a split second. I snapped back to reality and couldn’t hold myself up. I screamed “No! No!!” over and over again. My mom, Tina, and Corina were holding me up. I looked into my moms face....she looked lost. I tried to find an answer in her eyes but they were screaming the same questions in my mind. Her face was pale and puffy from crying but there were no tears. She was numb. I wanted someone else to be crying to. Why wasn’t anyone else crying?! I realized soon that everyone already there was, by this time in shock.
Since it was so scorching hot outside and we weren’t allowed to go inside the house the councilor offered her car right across the street. I sat there still with the a/c blowing in my face but doing nothing to dry up the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. Tina came over a few minutes later and held me. She was talking but I felt so far away and disconnected I couldn’t understand the words she was saying. When my mom came back to me I had stopped crying. The tears seemed to have dripped down my cheeks and neck and soak the neck of my shirt. She held me in her arms and told me that everything was going to be ok that she would take care of us and not to worry because we would get through it together. I asked her to please call Kris and tell him what had happened. I needed him to be there. She left the car to call him and I sat there staring at the other side of the street. On that side it looked so peaceful and motionless. The counselor came into the car and asked me if I had any questions. She asked if I wanted to know what had happened. I was terrified but I needed to know. I asked her how he did it and she told me he used a gun. I was sick and just sat there staring straight ahead.  I had my “This isn’t real….this is a dream” moment right then. It may have lasted longer except that it was interrupted by a blood curdling scream. I shot my head back to the house and saw the stretcher. The scream had come from my mom.  The tears came again…first my cheeks, streaming down my neck, soaking into my shirt. What was happening and WHY was this happening? I couldn’t see my mom anywhere.
About 45 minutes later Kris had gotten the the house and I was relieved. By this time the police had started leaving….the yellow tape was gone. We both sat on the sidewalk and cried. What seemed like hours had passed and I still hadn’t gone into the house. The biggest question in my mind was how we were going to tell Haley. The school day was not over yet as my mom left with the counselor and Kelsey Wilson (haley’s best friend) in tow. All I could think when she came home was how thankful I was that the yellow tape and that white truck were gone. She got out of the car with the same look my mom had. Screaming eyes but numb everywhere else. I saw her shaking and hugged her tight. It was her I felt for the most. Her and my father had the most unique, close relationship that every girls wants to have with her daddy. I envied her almost for being such a daddy’s girl all her life. By this time we had gone into the house. It felt different and empty. It wasn’t a home anymore, it was a place I didn’t like to be. In less that an hour people started to poor in. Our home was full of concerned hearts.
The rest of that day is sort of lost in my memory. I do remember looking for my sister….she was shut away in her room laying in her bed wearing one of our dad’s tee shirts. I didn’t know what to say to her. Her tears never stopped. My brother was stationed in Kansas at the time and remember feeling so badly for him because I couldn’t imagine being so far away from us at a time like this. He was very calm and reassured my mom, sister, and I that he would be home soon. He would MAKE the army let him come home. I don’t think it really hit him until the funeral.
As faces came and went in a blur, Pastor Stacey Wiley and his wife were there all the while. Pastor Wiley and Bro. Flores came to me and asked where my dad had kept his guns. I showed them where they were. They took them all away. They let us stay in their home that night. As I crawled into bed I was so exhausted and yet it took me forever to fall asleep. I lay there staring into the darkness feeling very far away. God? Are you here with me? I prayed that night for peace to sleep the whole night through. I slept very soundly that night.
I woke up the next more very early and extremely groggy. It wasn’t a dream. I went into the other room to check on my mom. She was up and getting her stuff together. She said that she wanted to go back home.