I remember the day the pain set in. I remember that Easter Sunday morning, but most of it is a blur. I recall the weakness I felt at not being able to hold myself together completely. That day was turned into a tragedy.

Easter had already begun good that day. I felt the cold wind of Colorado whipping my hair into my face as I settled the door open to let the dogs out. It was Easter, and I hadn’t woken up to screaming and yelling, it must have been a miracle. I was starting to gain a sarcastic humor and I knew it would stick. I walked back through the house we had built, and were still building. If you were to use technical terms, you could call it an on-going construction zone. I walked through the living room and kitchen, holding a strong stride and standing up straight, not noticing the good posture I had developed.

I glanced at the picture of my sister and I when we were nothing but mere toddlers and continued another step before pushing open her door. Her light was off and her body lay crumpled under the soft blanket, resting on nothing but a stack of two mattresses. I waited a couple seconds to see her breath rising and falling before reaching on the shaded wall for the dimmer switch. I pushed the light on and turned to walk straight from her cold room into my blistering hot living space. I stole a look at my heater and noticed it was turned off. It was always warm in here. I pulled my teddybear off my bed as I collapsed on top of it.

I heard my father’s voice trailing into my dream as he slowly turned the light on. I could tell by his tone of voice he was trying to wake me up and it worked. I rolled onto my side so I could face him and pushed my mouse brown hair out of my face. He stood at my door, holding it open so the clothes scattered on the floor wouldn’t shut it. My room was a mess. He told me, “Happy Easter.” and I simply nodded. The sun was shining in my room and I estimated it was about 9 a.m. I knew there wouldn’t be an Easter egg hunt today. I could feel it in my cold chest. I swung my legs off the edge of my bed and glanced out the doorway. I could see my sister walking to the couch, most likely to lay down for longer. I pushed myself up and wrapped my soft purple blanket around myself as a car pulled into the driveway. The noise drew my attention and I turned toward my window.

My parents had not been in the same place together for more than a couple minutes for 3 months. I was getting used to the idea of never seeing them together again. I knew they weren’t happy anymore, but it still felt so surreal when I saw them that day. My dad had stopped coming home most days and when he did it was after we were already sleeping. My mom had found her escape from us and the home, or at least that’s what it felt like. I felt like it was all my sisters and my fault.

I sat down on the couch as soon as I could make my sister move her feet enough. My dad had disappeared into the back room with my mother, who had recently arrived, and I knew I would hear the fighting sooner or later. I stared out the glass sliding window at the view we got from 9,000 feet up. Pine trees cascaded through the peaks and valleys, creating a homey feel inside my frigid house, frozen from the cold hearts that walked through this home.

The yelling never started, and this scared me more than anything. I waited for the rest to happen, but how could the chain of events happen if the first one never evolved? I heard the master bedroom door open and slow footsteps following one another. I shifted to try to look behind me, but instead got a window of opportunity to look upon the fallen face of my father. My mother followed and I saw my dad’s face change from sorrow and betrayal to angry in the millisecond of chance.

I stared, in awe, as my father stormed out of the house. My sister returned my look of confusion and I looked at my mother, regretting it a second later. My sister burst into tears, and I felt that even though I was just as sad as she was, I had to be the strong one. My mother sat down and tried to explain the reason of divorce, but my sister screamed at her and told her she had ruined our lives.

I held her head in my lap and let her tears drip onto my legs. Ache filled my chest but I contained the sadness. I held the stress on my shoulders and that was the first day my posture got weighed down. It would never be perfect again, always disrupted. I would continue to hold the emotions for the benefit of others, not willing to think of myself. Someday, I’d find a way to let it out. I just hoped I wouldn’t boil over and erupt before I found a way to escape from my caged in emotions.

I imprisoned my fear, my hurt, and my pain. I did it for the good of others. I didn’t know it would soon become a tragic habit I wouldn’t be able to break.