Posts Tagged ‘tragedies’


Posted: September 28, 2014 in Mist
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Sticks and Stones may break bones

But words can also hurt me

Stick and stones break only the skin

While words are ghosts that haunt me

Pain from words will leave its scars

On mind and hear that’s tender

Cuts and bruises now have healed

But it’s the words that I remember.


I was 13.  I had an afternoon snack with a friend to celebrate her birthday and on my way home, my cousin drove by and stopped next to me. He looked upset and asked me where I was.  I told him I was with a friend for her birthday party.

“You’re out partying, while grandpa was dying!” I heard him say before he drove away.  I stood motionless on the side of the street probably for 5 minutes, probably more.  I couldn’t remember.  I was trembling.  I remember praying to God that it wasn’t true.  That it was just one of his bad jokes. Or that I was dreaming.

My heart was pounding hard and slowly ran back home.  I was two blocks away.  When I got home, there were so many people… relatives, neighbors, people I didn’t know.

I ran to my grandparent’s bedroom. And I saw him lying in bed, lifeless.  No one tried to comfort me. Why would they?  I wasn’t his daughter, I wasn’t his son.  I was just the spoiled grandchild they who took away my grandfather’s attention from everyone else.

When I was born, they said my mother left me with my grandparents to marry another man.  Honestly, I’ve heard different versions on why and how my mother left me.  I didn’t care really.  All that mattered to me was that I felt loved and cared for by my grandparents, especially my grandfather.  He sent me to school using the little retirement money that they had. Fed me, took care of me when I was sick, hugged me when I felt alone and bullied.  He read me stories, and made me feel what it was like how to have a family.

I ran and sat in the corner of my bedroom and cried.  I wanted to scream my heart out.  I hated the world, I hated God, I hated everyone, I hated my grandfather and most of I hated myself.

Because I could’ve been with him and told him I loved him and I that I appreciated everything he did for me, and that I needed him.  Maybe…just maybe he could’ve still been alive.

Instead, like what I remember everyone was saying; I was out partying.


I was 19.  It was late at night and I was walking down the street going to a friend’s house.  I was 3 hours away from home so I wanted to wait until its morning before I take the bus.  I asked a friend if I could sleep on their couch tonight.  He said his parents said it was fine.

I was supposed to be with my boyfriend to meet his family.  But the night did not go as expected.  We exchanged hurting words; he hit me and then said sorry.  It wasn’t the first time.

I took off wanting to be alone.

When I got to my friend’s house, I’ve had 10 missed calls from my boyfriend.  15 messages all saying that I needed to go home with him.

My cellphone rang again, I picked it up.  He sounded drunk, he was begging me to see him, that we needed to be together, and that he loved me so much. A part of me says I needed to go back, just like before.  But that night, I couldn’t.  I told him he needed to sober up first, then we can talk in the morning. We were both crying. We were both hurt.  That night, I taught myself to stand-up for what I thought was the right thing.  I said “no”.  I asked him to give me a little space and that everything will be okay, if he could just let me be that night.

“Whatever happens to me tonight…it’s your entire fault.”  Those were his last words before the line went silent.

I cried for his name, to hear him speak again on the phone. My friend heard what was happening, and he helped calm me down.  I cried myself to sleep that night.  I uttered a prayer that I was doing the right thing.  And that he didn’t do anything stupid, and that everything will be okay.

The next morning, I learned that my boyfriend committed suicide.  And like what he said, it was my fault.

Words can twist a person in many ways.

Some can lift up your spirit; some break you more than you hope it would.

Unfortunately, for me, it’s the latter than I remember the most.