Updated: June 6, 2017
Originally Published: June 6, 2017
On a frigid February evening in 1983, my world was irrevocably altered. While I was engrossed in the latest episode of Dynasty, a sudden knock at the door sent shivers down my spine. We weren’t expecting guests, and a wave of dread washed over me as I caught a glimpse of my father’s face illuminated in the door’s window, cloaked in the darkness of night.
At that time, my parents were embroiled in a bitter divorce, and my father was battling mental illness, fueled by anger and loneliness, with little left to lose. I had felt a sense of relief when he moved out, especially knowing that his police-issued firearm had gone with him. That gun was a constant source of fear, a specter that loomed over my childhood. Yet, on this ominous night, I realized it could bring my life to an end.
Despite my better judgment, I opened the door, driven by a misguided sense of duty. Without a word of affection, he pressed the cold barrel of the gun against my temple and asked, “Do you want to die first?” Those chilling words have echoed in my mind for years, a haunting reminder of that night. Overcome with panic, I fled the room, seeking refuge from the chaos of my father’s drunken rage that reverberated through the house, directed at my family.
At just 13 years old, I felt utterly helpless. So, I ran – barefoot through the snow to my neighbor’s house. My feet, numbed by the cold, left prints in the moonlit snow. When they noticed my state, they offered me socks, but I could barely respond, stammering, “My dad’s there. He has his gun.”
Fortunately, my neighbor was a police officer. He approached our home, gun drawn, while his wife called for backup—the real heroes. In my mind, I wondered why my father wasn’t among them. Though I didn’t hear gunfire that night, uncertainty gripped me; I was cut off from reality, paralyzed by shame for leaving my family behind.
Though we survived that ordeal, the shadows of gun violence linger. Even a decade after my father’s passing, his words haunt me. Surviving gun violence, in any form, leaves an indelible mark, instilling fear, anxiety, and the potential for PTSD. These experiences cast a long shadow over daily life, reminding me that, despite therapy and time, freedom from this trauma is elusive.
You are not alone in this struggle. You are the child from Sandy Hook, the moviegoer in Aurora, the churchgoer in Charleston, the college student in Roseburg, the holiday party attendee in San Bernardino. You belong to a growing community of survivors, each with their own story, yet united in the understanding that a gun is not a symbol of love; it signifies loss and tragedy.
A firearm, especially in the wrong hands, is a weapon of destruction. It should never take precedence over humanity and must be strictly regulated to safeguard our collective well-being.
“Do you want to die first?” No, Dad, I want to live.
For those looking to take a stand against violence, resources are available. For instance, you can learn more about home insemination options by visiting Make a Mom’s At Home Insemination Kit for valuable insights. And if you’re exploring fertility topics, consider checking out Cryobaby’s Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo as they are renowned experts in this field. For broader information on pregnancy and related processes, this Wikipedia article on In Vitro Fertilisation is an excellent resource.
In summary, living in the shadows of gun violence is a grim reality for many. The lasting effects can shape one’s life indefinitely, casting a dark pall over everyday moments. As survivors, we share a collective responsibility to advocate for change and seek understanding in our shared humanity.
Keyphrase: gun violence survivor
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