~An Imperial Affliction~

Farwell

April 14th, 2011~

Okay, I may have lied about continuing this story in the present, but I promise, this is the only other time I will refer to the past. We humans unfortunately act on what we do best: lie. We have all been cursed with sin in our hearts which causes us to hurt not only others, but ourselves. The most common sin is lying. We simply cannot help it which is one of the many downfalls of being human. What I wouldn't give to become a higher being; to be immune to diseases and sin. If you have not figured it out yet, this chapter's topic is lying. And how one measly lie killed my father whom was the only person in the world I could trust.

December 3rd, 2008 at one-forty-seven Am, my father passed away in his police car as he was heading to a domestic complaint. My mother is still convinced my father's death was an accident. But I know the truth. The real reason he left this forlorn world. He was not intoxicated, and he did not crash accidentally running into an oak tree, he died from a broken heart. It was all his choice to die, not mine, not God's, but his.

Most people consider suicide to be selfish, and to some extent, it is! However, if you do not like the vast taste of lemons, then I don't expect you to eat them. The same policy goes for life as well: if you do not like the twist and turns of life, then I do not expect you to live it. Although, this is not a well thought out motto to live by, it's thought in the back part of your head, telling you this is right. That is the exact thoughts my that my father had. And since I feel like I am going to die soon, I am starting to accept my father's choice.

When I was first diagnosed with leukemia, my whole family believed I was going to die — we even picked out a dress I would wear in that box the day before my bone marrow transplant. The gown was a dull yellow, which matched the color of my mother's favorite flowers: tulips.
Don't believe me?
My mother almost got away with naming me "Kareol," a type of flaxen tulip. Luckily, my father refused. Somehow they compromised and named me Anna Rose Baker which suits me fairly well if I say so myself.

At the age of thirteen, I realized how lucky I was to be alive, and began to appreciate life for what it was. Everything was hunky dory until one day at school, my algebra teacher introduced Maria Walter's parents to speak in front of the class. Poor twelve Maria hanged herself with a scarf the night before.

Why did she do such an awful thing? To be frank, I still have no idea, and I do not intend to find out the reason.
That day, I was absolutely furious how that adolescent girl wasted her perfectly healthy life while I wanted to live yet I had no choice but to die.

Being sympathetic, I am sure she had a reason to suffocate herself. Or perhaps, she had a mental disorder such as depression; her parents may have not bought her that new cell phone she wanted.

Unfortunately, neither you nor I, will ever know what thoughts truly went through Maria's head that day. When I die, I'll ask her why she hurt herself in such a severe way. Nevertheless, I hope Maria Walter is living merrily in Heaven (no sarcasm).

Honestly, I would rather be afflicted by cancer with my father's heart still beating than being completely healthy with my father six feet under. If I am going to die, I want my last moments of life to be euphoric. Not everyone's last moments are filled with joy — mostly because they are struggling to breathe which is extremely uncomfortable. But, some people, like my father, died as swift as a light switch. One moment he is alive, the next, BAM, he's dead.

I suspect he had been planning his death for at least a year, due to unemployment, the diagnosis of his daughter's cancer, and most importantly, my mother's affair. My mouthed does not think I am aware of her actions, but I am almost certain she knows that she is to blame for her husband's suicide.

James Santos, a coworker and friend to my father who both worked for the Florida state police. I believe my mother and Mr. Santos met at the troop Christmas gala — where children are not allowed to attend —and in mid-January, I noticed my mother acting rather queer. For example, she would always rush father out of the house for work just so she could leave.

I saw clothes that were not my father's laying on the ground tangled in my mother's bra. Certainly, my father saw what his wife was doing behind his back.

I remember they would scream at each other when they thought I was sleeping. "You two for nothing whore," My father would shout, and my mother would reply by throwing a glass bottle at him. Then, it would be silence. Soon, a door would slam, and my father's car would drive off. One of those nights, my father drove straight to Heaven. Or depending on your religion, he went to Hell since suicide is a sin in God's eyes. Or maybe, if you have no faith at all, my father just died; his mind and soul cease to exist.

I just don't know which is scarier: evermore life or an eternal sleep of nothing but darkness.