**Life Continues**

After the court case was over, I lost all interest in anything that would be considered a "healthy lifestyle". At this point, I could care less. I no longer cared what happened to me, or anyone that was around me. I quit school, jumped back and forth between friends houses. I did whatever it was that I wanted, regardless of what anyone thought. I defied every rule that was set in place.
By 15, I was at an emotional low. I felt so alone, no one understood me, and my life story. I had opened up to a couple of people, but to someone who has never walked in my shoes, it meant nothing. Their basic remedy was to suck it up and move on, I just couldn't do that. I carried so many emotional burdens that I just couldn't flick the switch on.
I met someone. I was babysitting for a couple that lived down the road from my sister, and they had a new boarder move in. After the first day of meeting, I was hooked. I couldn't get enough of him. He was older by 6 years, swept me off my feet. This man made me feel wanted, needed, and most of all, loved. We immediately moved in with one another, against my father and sisters wishes.
He was my escape. How could I not love someone that removed me from all the pain?
Being so young, and inexperienced in life, I looked to him for guidance, afterall, I knew nothing about living on my own.
After only a month, I discovered I was pregnant. I went from being on-top of the world to crashing face first into reality. Fifteen years old and pregnant, I was scared to death. How could I be fit to raise a child? I couldn't deal with my own issues, let alone care for another human being.
I broke ties with all of my family, they didn't approve of my relationship, so I pushed them away. Life moved on, I slowly came to terms with the fact that I was about to become a mother, life seemed to be okay.

~May 7th, 2002~
My life was re-created. Sixteen years old ~ a whole new meaning. My beautiful baby boy came into the world. So petite, gorgeous in every way. He was a piece of me. When I looked in his eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself looking back at me. My heart filled with joy every time I looked at him. He was mine.
While holding him in the hospital, I talked to him as if he could hear me. I stroked his down like hair, ran my fingers across his rosy little cheeks, I held him close to my heart, I cried, I promised this little boy that I would never hurt him the way my mother did. I promised I'd always be there, and love him unconditionally.

**Time Marches On..Pain Never Leaves**

As time moved onward, I no longer had just me and my issues to be concerned with. I now had a child, who relied on me to care for him. There was no longer time to have emotional break downs, or be consumed in my own self thought. Thinking of the past had to be tamed, kept under control and hidden.
Dealing with the ridicule of being a young mother was enough to keep my mind occupied from thoughts of the past. I was frowned upon by many, an outcast in a sense. Many friends I had before, no longer spoke. I saw the way people glared at me, the smirks, the snickers, the words spoken when they thought I wasn't listening.
They looked at me as if I had thrown my entire life away. I slowly secluded myself from outside of my home.
My relationship seemed to be going well, although I had no idea what a healthy relationship was. How could I possibly know what love was, when I had never been shown it?
When our son was four months old, we packed up what we could put in our car and headed out East, to Nova Scotia. What was only supposed to be a visit, turned into a permanent residency.
At 16 years old, leaving behind what I knew as life was hard. I was now totally alone, and had no one to call my own. My boyfriend and son were all I had.
Life moved on, years slowly passed, more less just existing rather than living. I spent my days as a housewife and mother, but not me. I always felt that there was something missing.

~September 2003~

I received a call. My mother frantic on the other end. Her and I very rarely spoke. Since I gave birth to my son, I distanced myself from her, not wanting her a part of his life.
The News ~ My father had a stroke and wasn't expected to make it.
The Guilt ~ I hadn't spoken to my father for two years at this point. I stopped all contact with family, and walked away. It was much easier to run than deal with the blunt force of emotions. Now, the past with my father didn't seem so bad. I was guilt ridden.
My boyfriend, son and I packed up and made a trip out to Ontario. I don't think i realized the effect that this trip would have on me emotionally.

*Cold harsh reality..Mortality..We don't live forever*

I walked in, slowly, cautiously, unaware of what awaited around the white curtain. I hate the smell, it makes me sick. One too many trips to the hospital as a child repulsed me of even walking in there.

There he lay. Motionless. Lifeless. His eyes followed me, yet were lost. Tubes, monitors, medical equipment that I have never seen before, everywhere.
My heart ripped, I felt shredded. This was the man who gave me life. When I saw him last he was still up, walking around, joking, driving...Living. Now lifeless.
My oldest brother was there, I instantly ran over to be in his arms. We sobbed together, looking at our father, literally fading away to nothing.
I never spoke a word to my father on that visit. I just stared at him, unable to accept reality, unable to control my tears. He was paralyzed, no movement, no voice, just his eyes.
Everyone left the room, except myself. I finally gathered the strength to walk over to his bed. I sat beside him, scared to death, this wasn't my dad. I grabbed his hand, even though I knew he couldn't feel it. I sat there, just stroking the hand that once held me as a baby. I took a few moments to remember the good times we had together. The long drives when I was a child. How I always had to say "Dad, pull your pants up!"..His ridiculous yellow hat that I HATED..I was mortified when he wore it.
I stood up and leaned over his bed, gently placed my hands on both his cheeks, kissed his forhead. I sat my forehead on his and looked in his eyes, they were the only part of my father that was left that I still recognized. I began to sing....
"Daddy's girl, daddy's girl..I'm the center, of daddy's world"...My tears flowed down his face. This was our song, always. He became teary. Although I never spoke a word to him, this was the only way I could say goodbye.
I was in Ontario for a week, and only visited him that once, the first night I was there. As selfish as it sounds, I couldn't bring myself to do it again.
I returned home.

**February 22, 2004**

He died. It was only a matter of time. After 5 months of being in therapy with no progress, it was almost to be expected. I had already been planning another trip out there to see him one last time. My sister, brother and myself decided that he should no longer be tortured. Life support was removed. I talked to my sister on the phone as he took his last few gasps of air. He was finally at peace.
My fathers passing at the moment didn't effect me in a huge emotional way. Afterall, we knew it was coming.
I packed my things, and ventured back off to Ontario.

**Time to say goodbye**

I walked into the funeral home, greeted by many family members I hadn't seen in years, and some I had never even met. It was an emotional day for two reasons. I was saying goodbye to my father, and meeting a brother I never knew I had. We all sat in the lounge area, sharing stories, exchanging pictures.
My oldest brother walked in, my eyes instantly swelled, I knew what he wanted. He walked over, reached out his hand and said "It's time little sister"..
We walked to the casket, slowly, he held my hand. There he lay, once again, lifeless. But this time, I didn't have his eyes, he was gone. I hit my knees.
I didn't care what I looked like, or what anyone thought of me at that very moment, I was crushed. My brother sobbed with me, trying to be strong, he picked me up and took me outside. We held each other and cried.
My brothers were my strength that day, both sitting on either side, holding my hands. The bond with my oldest brother will never be broken after that day. He was my rock.
After the funeral, I went and stayed with my oldest brother for the remainder of my stay.

**How does one cope with a loss when there was so much left unknown?**

I returned home, only to be more confused now than ever before. My relationship was rocky, my boyfriend had just been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. Our personal life was up in the air. I had no idea how to deal with his illness. No matter how research I did to try and understand his behavior, it made no difference on the emotional impact his actions had. I couldn't cope with the highs and lows, the verbal abuse, mental abuse etc. By the end of March, I packed my things and left.
Now 17 years old, it was just my son and I, on our own.
I struggled with my fathers death more than anyone ever knew. So many questions left unanswered, that I never had the courage to ask. Why did he leave me with my mother? Why didn't he come to my rescue? Why didn't he tell me all those years that he was my father? Simply, why?
My boyfriend and I remained separated for 10 months, and decided to try things again.
In the next few years, two more children blessed our lives. Another boy, then finally a girl. We were a young couple that struggled to make it. Our relationship never regained that spark. We were more less two different people existing in the same house. I resented him for his illness, for bringing children into our tangled up mess. When our daughter was 4 months old, I left, for good this time.

**Dealing with illness**

Living with a man who suffered from Bipolar Disorder were some of the hardest, trying times in my life. After we had children, I knew I loved him dearly, but couldn't find a solution to fix things. Mood swings, name calling, arguing, fighting, unstable thoughts, paranoia,abnormally increased sex drive, threats..it was all just too much. I felt horrible for leaving him. He was ill, something out of his hands. I walked away when he needed me most. I knew he loved me, but it just wasn't enough. our home was far from being stable, my children were far from happy. All I could see was my childhood flashing in front of my eyes. I had to run.
We both moved on, he carried on with his life, had himself back on track, I had met somebody else. The dealings with the kids went relatively well.