The rain was beating down like a drum, smearing the glass and blinding my view as my dad and I sped down the highway. His phone started ringing and he started to fumble around trying to answer. I saw his face grow grim and his eyes start to water and immediately I knew that something was wrong. The second the call ended I asked him, “Dad, what’s wrong?” The blood stared to rush to my head and my vision was blurring even before he answered, “Mr. Kirk died.”
Grief and sadness hit me with the force of a million bricks slamming into my chest. My emotions ripped out of my chest unable to be held in any longer. Tears ran down my checks with hurricane speed. I glanced over to discover that my dad was balling with me, but we kept on driving. I was shaking all over, incapable of containing my sorrow.
By the time I reached my destination I was drenched in tears. Much to my dismay, I still had to practice. I walked slowly but steadily to the field. My dad kept saying, “It will help you get through this.” I couldn’t stop hoping that he was right, but the thought that ‘what if it was my dad who died’ wouldn’t leave me alone. I pushed through the pain that was eating away at my soul and began to warm-up. That night was a whirlwind of pain but eventually it got better for me. I don’t think that I’ll ever take advantage of my dad again.