My Father's Death-Personal Narrative

It was a regular Monday morning. There was no special occasion occurring; no birthdays, no anniversary, yet among the other days it felt different. It felt as if something important was going to occur. As if my mother also sensed the change atmosphere, she prayed three times instead of her usual routine of praying once a day. It appeared my father and my little sister didn 't feel it, as they carried on with their normal routine of getting ready. I eventually forgot about the strange feeling and continued to get ready. My father said he was going to work, so as usual my sister and I ran out the door to say goodbye. As he got in his car and drove off I noticed a car that was parked in front of our house drove off behind him. I shrugged it off …show more content…
In that moment I didn 't know what to think. I asked my mother the first question that came to me. "Is he dead?" I whispered. Making eye contact with me she whispered "No." Relief flooded through me, knowing he wasn 't dead. She regained her composure, as if remembering she needed to remain calm and act brave for us. She continued to speak but in a steady, and a stronger voice. "He 's not dead, but he 's not okay either. I called the police. Your dads inside the house. Call your grandparents and tell them what happened. Tell them to rush over here. Do not leave this room okay? I have to go help your dad. Stay here." She ran out of the room. I quickly dialed the phone and my grandfather answered the phone on the first ring. I quickly explained to him they had shot my dad. I told him to please hurry. He said he will be here in no more than 5 minutes. I hung up the phone and looked at my sister, she was sobbing. I attempted to soothe her by telling her our dad would be okay and that the police were on their way. I could hear the police sirens in the distance getting closer to us. I thought I heard a helicopter, but I wasn 't …show more content…
The moment she opened the kitchen door leading to the living room, I noticed giant drops of blood on our wooden floors. She pulled us towards the front door. I remember saying it looked like a light show outside. There was over 10 police cars, a fire truck, 2 ambulances, and a helicopter surrounding our house. I saw my grandfather arguing with a police officer by the gate to let him in. I let go of my mothers hand and ran towards the gate to hug him. My mother followed behind me with my sister and hugged my grandma. A paramedic came up to my mother and told her my sister and I weren 't allowed to be here. She grabbed my sister, but before she grabbed me I had already turned around. There on the sidewalk was my father with a bullet wound to his chest and paramedics surrounding himself. My father made eye contact with me and turned on his side so I wouldn 't see him in pain. But it was too late. The memory of my father with a bullet wound to his chest was already etched in to my brain. My grandmother turned me around and took me inside the house. Once we stepped inside I checked the time, it was not even 9 pm yet. Police officers and detectives began questioning my mother and occasionally asked my sister and I