Autobiography Of My Father

My mother married my stepfather Sgt. Brian Rand when I was young. We had grown very close to each other and I would do anything to protect him and as he would for me. I, of course, could not protect him when he went to overseas for tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Korea. Luckily, he came back safe from each one. My parents’ relationship began to fall apart. They constantly fought and eventually their marriage ended in divorce. My mother, sister, and I moved back to New York, and Brian at some point found a new wife, whom eventually became pregnant. My father would still call and check up on us. I had high hopes that they would get back together, but it was too late. My stepfather took his own life. My mother did not really explain much to

The trumpets played, the guns were shot, and the flag laid over his casket. It all became real as they picked up the flag and began to fold it in a neat triangle. Today I can still hear the trumpets and guns ringing in my ears. Looking back, I start to remember all of the “firsts” I had with my stepfather. I had lost my first tooth with him. He taught me how to ride a bike. I had my first broken bone in the middle of a bowling alley with him. There were so many “firsts”, but now I am constantly reminded that there will be even more “nevers.” Though he was not my biological father, and we were of a different race, love did not know the difference between black and white. With these thoughts also came the question of what really happened and so I did a quick google search. A lot of articles appeared about my father. Most of them were from his sister April 's posts or interviews that she had with people. One that I found, truly broke my heart. It said that my stepfather knew what he had to do. He had to leave the physical realm and go up to heaven and be a part of the Army of God. He believed that he needed to stop the war and save his fellow soldiers, and the only way he could do that was in

The idea of going back to New York, for more than just a break, is scary. My mother does not understand my need to have God in my life. Rather, she thinks that I am part of a cult. The love that I have received from people, like Professor McNaughton, and my FYE group leader, Mikayla Martin, is profound. Though I had expected that I would struggle somewhat I never knew that it would be this bad and affect even my grades the way it did. While being here I have struggled with beating myself and an eating disorder. I have struggled with suicidal thoughts for the majority of my life and began to self harm through cutting. My mother found shame in my weakness and instead of showing concern, it felt like she condemned me. I had bruises on my left arm from the beating I had placed on myself. Not only was I beating myself, but also starving myself for weeks on end. Things got so out of hand that the counseling center here at Southeastern nearly sent me to the hospital. I can say without a doubt that if it wasn 't for Mikayla taking time out of her days to speak to me, one on one, I would not be where I am today. I am so thankful that I was here this semester because if I was at home, I am not sure who could have helped me. I know the saying, “you saved my life” is cliché, but that is just what it was. At that point I was so done with life, but she gave me a sense of hope. I know that God is