Today, thirteen years ago, the guys in shadows confirmed my dad’s death. Heartbroken I was and still am. I was only three, yet I was so capable of understanding every bit of what had happened. I went through denial when my mom broke down in tears as she got back to her safe haven, I told her that daddy would fix everything. Surely, that made everything worse. Imagine driving up on the accident with a three month old sister and a twenty one year old mom. I still can’t handle it. My mom believes I’m okay with it, but in actuality, his death was one of my reasons for falling into si. She married a man less than a year later, only looking for someone to take care of us, not selfish, I know. But she never went through the grieving process, I know I haven’t. It hurts everyday, knowing that I’m the girl who lost her daddy in a car wreck. I’m a statistic, I wish I wasn’t.