Fighting+Back+the+Tears

Fighting Back the Tears by Rhiannon Milliard "You only get one father in your lifetime, Rhiannon," my Yi Ya, who is my very Greek grandmother, preached to me all throughout my junior year of high school. I had had a huge falling out with my biological father and refused to talk to him. I understood what she was saying though. What she failed to comprehend, however, was that I already had had my father, and he was gone now. Granted he may not have been my biological father, but he still raised and loved me like I was really his own daughter. His name was Brian Taber, and he was, and will always be my best friend. Brian became my step- father when I was a year and a half old. By looking at pictures of the two of us when I was a baby, I could tell that I always felt comfortable with him. He never treated my two older brothers or myself like we were anything but his own children. He did everything for us and just wanted us to succeed. I like to think we were a happy family while I was growing up. There were six of us total living in my house growing up: my step-dad, my mom, my two older brothers, my younger brother, and myself. My younger brother was my half-brother, Brian's son with my mom. Even though he had one of his own children, I always had a special connection to Brian because we had a lot in common. For example, we shared the same birthday, September fifth. This was very special to us, like we had something that no else one could touch. Overall, my step-dad was just a great man. But like all great men, he had flaws. His biggest was what happened when he drank. Brian's dad had died when Brian was only nineteen, so he turned to alcohol to cope with the loss. Thus, Brian became an alcoholic. The major thing that happened when he became drunk, was that he became very violent. I remember this happening once when I was about four years old. Brian ended up going to rehab and everything was fine again. Other than that, I never saw him drinking until the beginning of my fifth grade year in school. When my mom found out, they talked it through, and he agreed to stop. At least my mother thought he quit, but my two older brothers and I found out otherwise. Brian was secretive about his drinking, but we knew. We could not tell our mother though, afraid that we would get into trouble. However, by January of 2003, we all had had enough. I remember that day well, that cold day of January 10, 2003. It was the day I decided to tell my mom what my brothers and I knew. I was walking through the deep snow of my backyard up from the school bus stop. When I got to the back door, I gathered my courage and walked through the door with an air of confidence not commonly found in a ten-year-old. Just when I was ready to open my mouth to tell my mother the truth about Brian's drinking, she told me that she needed to tell me something. "Rhiannon, your father has been drinking again," she quietly told me. "I've been finding beer cans hidden all over the place." "I know, Mom. I was actually going to tell you about it today. Kevin and Kyle know too, but we were all too afraid to tell you about it," I answered. "It's okay; I understand. When he gets home from work, I'm going to talk to him. You and your brothers are going to stay downstairs. If I tell you to do something, do it right away without questioning me," she commanded. That's when I knew it was going to be a long night. While most of that night is a blur to me, I do remember that there was a lot of yelling. The four of us, my three brothers and I, were downstairs, waiting for a command from our mom. Finally, a command was shouted from upstairs for us to get into the car. Brian agreed to go away for a while. I was not quite sure where he went, possibly to his mother's house in North Jersey. Regardless of where he went, he was gone. After six months, Brian came back and rented an apartment in downtown Bangor, the town where we lived. I was overcome with happiness because I had missed him a lot. Dillon, my younger brother, and I would go to visit him all the time. Though one night when we stayed over, I found out the truth. Dillon and I were lying in bed, trying to sleep when I heard the opening of a can. My eyes flew open and my heart started racing. I knew it had to be a beer can. When he got up and walked down to his basement, I seized the opportunity to steal into the living room. Sure enough, I found a beer can sitting there. I didn't know what to do with myself. Part of me felt like I should tell my mom, but for some reason, I never did. The six months that followed were relaxing. Things were improving between my mom and Brian. The only thing that caused any alarm was the fact that Brian was in and out of the hospital. He was having liver problems, but my mother assured me that he was okay. Naturally, I believed her. What wasn't to believe? We were all getting along, and Brian and Mom were going to get back together. Life was good. At least it was...until July. I remember that day so clearly. It was July 8, 2004. The sun was shining fiercely, making the surface of everything hot to the touch. I had spent the night at my friend Sam's house. Upon returning home, I found my house too quiet for comfort. My brother Kevin greeted me when I entered our front door. He informed me that my mom and my brother Kyle were out running errands. A few minutes later, our back door swung open, and a ghastly looking Kyle walked in. His face was white, all the color drained from his face, just like he had seen a ghost. He claimed to have been feeling ill, so I thought nothing of it. However, I see now that I should have. Behind him came a family friend, saying that our mom had things to do, so she had picked up Kyle. The friend ended up staying though, and I remember our phone constantly ringing, so I knew something was up. Almost two hours later, my mother arrived home. She summoned us all into living room, saying she needed to speak to us. My brothers and I followed suit and entered the living room, all sitting on the floor around our mother. "I have something to tell you guys...It's about Brian," she quietly spoke. Automatically, I figured he was back in the hospital and figured she was going to tell us that we were going to visit him or something of that sort. But I was very wrong. "He's...dead." The words echoed in my brain. Dead. I wanted to get up and yell, "No! No, this can't be true!" I, instead, sat there stunned, not knowing what to say. I looked at my little brother, tears streaming down his face, clinging to my mom, just wanting his daddy. I saw my two older brothers sobbing. I could not cry, instead I was shaking ever so violently. These things happen in movies, in the books I read, but how did they happen to me? How had I lost my dad, my best friend? I had not even gotten to say goodbye. The tears have come in large quantities ever since that horrible day. For the past five and a half years, it feels like I have done nothing but cry. Tears and sadness seem to have consumed my life. For the longest time, I felt like it was my fault that Brian had died. I found out that he died from liver failure; he drank himself to death.The night I found the beer can, I should had told my mom. Friends have continuously told me over the years that even if I did tell my mom, that Brian probably still would had died. For five years I denied it, living with the "what if" scenario. What if I had told my mom? Would Brian had got better? Would I still have my daddy? The guilt and pain all from it was so unbearable; it was a great weight to carry for five years. Finally, I let it go, first feeling angry with Brian. He had to had known what he was doing to himself, being in and out of the hospital. He had a family to take care of, but he decided to choose the alcohol over us. I was angry for a while, until that too, was too exhausting. I was just trying to find ways to run away from it all, not wanting to accept the fact that Brian, my daddy, was really gone. Sometimes I find myself turning a corner, just hoping that Brian will run into me, and everything will be okay again. However, there are certain things that are just impossible to run away from, and I have just found that out. Knowing this now, I still understand that there is still a long road ahead of me to be able to cope with my loss and that every step of the way I'll be wanting Brian with me. At least now I have finally accepted the fact that I cannot run away from reality anymore. I have finally accepted that it is time for me to fight back the tears and continue on with my life.