[Editor’s Note: Mr. Astrup is a 10th grader at Crossroads School, Santa Monica.]
I know that my Aunt Madeline (Ehrlich) has told you about a poem I wrote back in April, two months after my dad committed suicide.
This tragedy has changed my life in many ways. Since this time, with support from family, friends and through therapy, I am moving through these difficult times, gaining more understanding and being able to forgive my dad more each day.
September was National Suicide Prevention Month. I hope that my poem will help someone else who may be dealing with the same or similar tragedy.
I wrote this poem at the request of two seniors at Crossroads School for a project that they were involved in. I have been a Crossroads student since kindergarten. Writing is one of my passions.
Dad
I remember the day
I was told I had to
pick up the phone.
Sitting next to a friend, looking
back, I wish I had
been alone
For a second I thought it was a joke.
It had to be a lie.
I couldn’t believe for
even the slightest
moment that my dad
could die. For a week,
nothing changed. It all
seemed the same.
Then I started
hating myself, targeting myself
for the blame.
For a while I thought the pain
would last forever. I
wondered when it would stop.
I wish it was just a cold and I
could swallow a cough drop.
But this is something that
leaves a stain, not
something that just goes
away. There were times I
couldn’t take it. This pain
couldn’t stay.
I would get furious and
throw my anger at what
was in front of me.
Punch a book, hit
anything I could see.
But I realized that this
wouldn’t bring him back, and
wouldn’t fix a thing.
I started thinking about his
sadness, trying to
understand what he was feeling. I remember when
he cried, when he finally let
it out.
This thought makes
me crazy, makes me
scream and shout. I’m angry at him for
leaving. Why did he
have to go?
I wish I could
fix it. I
wish I could
know why he
did it, why he
was so sad,
why he
abandoned me,
why it makes
me so mad.
These
questions are all
bottled up
in my head.
So I started
writing,
grabbed
some paper
and lead.
Looking
back on it
and trying
to make
sense.
But this hurting
in my chest
started to
become too
intense. I would
walk into school
with a fake smile
on my face,
looking for an
adult, someone w
ho could
replace.
I now know
that my dad
is stuck
right here.
Maybe he is
gone, but he
didn’t disappear.
I cry every night,
listening to the
same old song,
thinking about how
he taught me
what was right and what
was wrong. I have
become who I am
because of him,
showing me
the path,
always
dropping a
crumb. I am
grateful for
the times I
spent with
dad,
all the fun memories,
and the
moments I
had. My
dad was
amazing. He was one
of a kind,
and this
suffering he
faced, made
him so
blind
about what he
would lose, and
the people who
would cry now.
I look for him. I
stare at the sky
trying to stop
myself but
knowing I have
to say goodbye.
Saying that this
isn’t the most painful
thing in the world
would be a lie.
Mr. Astrup may be contacted through the Ehrlich family at PMSHA@aol.com
