Happy 4th of July: Daddy's Girl

I was daddy's little girl. As an only child, our relationship was beyond father daughter, it was more like a man and his shadow. Our morning breakfast routine started when I was very young, during the early school years. My dad would drive me to the bus stop, I would kiss him on the cheek and off I would go. He was the kind of father who was constantly teaching me and at the same time, he was constantly learning himself. I shared his love for college basketball; he taught me how to use my first laptop and took me kayaking for my very first time. He let me shine as he stood behind the camera at every show or recital, and would listen as he knelt by my bedside to say our prayers each night. My dad and I shared everything including our blue eyes.

It was not until I became older that I could see what a successful man my dad had become and the goals he had reached. Traveling overseas in the army during his early adult years, he worked his way through college eventually earning his masters degree, and then making a successful career in system technologies at well known university around where we lived.

My dad loved his family and his co-workers alike, having a general curiosity about life. It was his ambition which I admired most about him, how he would never let anything stand in his way. He instilled in me that I could achieve anything, as long as I was not afraid of the challenge.

It was as I grew older, my dad first started to show signs of clinical depression. The symptoms characteristically are irritability, fatigue, and lack of interest in activities which are normally fulfilling. Maybe I was so wrapped up in the mini dramas that make up a girl's teen years, or maybe he was just good at hiding it, but it took me a while to notice it. He would miss a few morning breakfast routines, stopped attending church with my mother and I, and stayed home from work more often; but it did little to the relationship I had with my dad.

Above all, my dad was patient and understanding even when it came to the subject of Math, my least favorite subject. The night before a giant pre-algebra test in Eighth grade, my dad and I were going over problems, me getting more nervous as my frustration built. I still remember crying in my dad’s arms that night, like a small child. The next day my dad dropped me off in the morning and I gave him a kiss on cheek and was on my way just like a typical morning. That afternoon I received a 94 on the test and was so excited to return home that night and tell him. My anxious waiting was answered by something no one can be prepared for. A knock on my door changed my world forever. My dad never came home from work that night.

No one expected a man of such grace and dignity, so ambitious and passionate about life to turn around and take his own. It turned out that the only thing that was standing in his way was himself. I thought back to the night before when I was crying because of my frustration, little did I know or truly understand the tremendous frustration that was going on inside my dad, the pain he still was trying to hide from me.

How could he not see the brilliant man I saw in him?

As the years have gone by since his death, I have asked myself many questions and have learned that brilliant men like my father are not the only ones that suffer from this disease.

When it was time for me to go to college, I decided to go to school at the same University that my dad spent 27 years of his life as a student and an employee. The institution he loved so very much was the same place he ended it all. Some thought it was strange that I returned to place where my father literally ended it all, but after all he was the one that taught me that you should not let things stand in your way and that almost anything can be achieved as long as you are not afraid of a challenge. I decided to go to a place my father was so much apart of, to be among his colleagues, and a place to keep his memory alive.

Though the days that I passed the building where he ended it all were challenging, it gave me the chance to tell people about the brilliant man that my dad was.

I am not ashamed of my dad because of his disease, I only feel sorry for those who do not realize or understand its devastating effects. The disease can affect anyone. Depression is hard to detect, it is a disease that affects people even though they do their best to hide it.

There is not a day that goes by that I don not wish for ordinary things, like a simple phone conversation or rooting for our college basketball team together. I think about the moments in my life I wish he had been apart of and the sixty-year-old man he would be today. I am sharing my story today because people should not turn their backs on depression because they think it is a challenge to understand, it is a disease that needs to be brought into the light. The light in my dad burned out long before it should. It is my mission in life to help keep that flame of knowledge and awareness burning for others.

By J. Suwalski
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