Parenting
The reality is stark: On July 8, 1980, my father, Samuel Carter, ended his life by taking a gun and pulling the trigger. I was only 13 years old, and my younger sister was just 9. He had just a month left until his 37th birthday. My father’s life concluded in a dilapidated trailer in Conroe, Texas—his new home after my mother could no longer tolerate his anger, deceit, and infidelity. He left no written explanation. Instead, he called my mother that fateful night around 9:30 PM. She later recounted that he sounded intoxicated. Having received many such calls during their separation, she was about to hang up when he uttered chilling words: “I want you to remember this sound for the rest of your life.” Moments later, there was a loud bang, unmistakably a gunshot. Raised on a farm, my mother recognized the sound instantly. Before rushing to the carport, she recalled hearing music playing in the background. In the aftermath, investigators found a vinyl record on an old turntable, the song being “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” a popular country hit by George Jones.
The Initial Shock
My immediate reaction to my father’s death was explosive; I punched a hole in my bedroom door, likely while screaming. But alongside that visceral anger, a more insidious thought took root: It was my fault. My parents had separated just as summer vacation began, leaving me to grapple with the collapse of my family. My father had moved into that rundown trailer, and I tried to visit him whenever I could, but our time together was limited.
As Fourth of July approached, I chose to spend the long weekend with him, sensing he was spiraling downward into heavier drinking and old habits. When I told him my plans, he explained that he would be working through the holiday, and I reluctantly joined my mother and sister at my aunt’s ranch. Just four days later, my father took his life.
1980 was marked by major events like the failed Operation Eagle Claw and the eruption of Mount St. Helens, but in Conroe, the more sensational news was my father’s suicide. When I started eighth grade, I was thrust into a spotlight I never wanted; I had gone from being the class clown to the subject of hushed whispers and sideways glances. My friends distanced themselves, and I felt I had to keep performing to avoid confronting the painful truth.
The Weight of Guilt
For years, I carried the weight of guilt, believing that had I insisted more on staying with him, I could have changed the outcome. This belief remained unspoken until I entered therapy in my mid-20s. During that time, I uncovered not just guilt but a deep-seated anger toward my father’s abandonment. This resentment often led me to sabotage my relationships, operating under the assumption that everyone would eventually leave.
A Turning Point
At 27, I made a conscious decision: I would not emulate my father. I had witnessed the pain of being left behind, and I wanted no part of that lifestyle. However, my emotional patterns closely resembled his, leading to a series of unhealthy relationships. I had resolved against having children, but then I met someone who changed my perspective, convincing me to seek professional help to address my issues.
During therapy, I recognized that I was no longer burdened by guilt but rather fueled by anger at my father’s choices. After ten years of marriage, we began discussing the possibility of having a child, and that’s when everything shifted.
Embracing Fatherhood
When my daughter, whom I affectionately call “Boo,” was born, I held her in my arms at the same age my father was when he left us. In that moment, I realized my commitment: I would never abandon her. I understood that I might fail her in many ways, but leaving her fatherless was not an option.
The journey of parenting has also allowed me to forgive my father, as I often find myself seeking my own daughter’s forgiveness. While my marriage ended, Boo is fortunate to have two active parents who prioritize her well-being. I have actively worked to prevent the cycle of trauma that plagued my own childhood.
Over the past decade, I’ve immersed myself in research on suicide and mental health, leading me to conclude that my father likely struggled with mental illness during a time when such issues went undiscussed. Recently, I discovered that I, too, deal with major depressive disorder—a condition that may have been inherited.
My father’s suicide was not a choice made by someone in their right mind, and I will never fully understand his rationale. What I do know is that I am committed to my daughter’s well-being and future. My father’s past is not my present, and I will always strive to be there for Boo.
Summary: This reflection on my father’s suicide emphasizes the importance of breaking cycles of familial trauma and the commitment a parent must have to their child. It explores the emotional burden of guilt and resentment while illustrating the transformative power of love and responsibility in parenting.