I took a deep breath to stop the slight shaking in my hand, whispering my affirmation on the exhale.

I'm ready for this. I'm ready. Before sliding the blue-lined notebook paper out from its envelope,

I was finally ready to read my dad's suicide note. It took me almost two years to get to this

point of acceptance and readiness. Two years ago, I was known as a bright and confident guy who was

ready to take on the world, having just finished high school as the class valedictorian. I was

following in my father's footsteps and received a full-ride scholarship to his alma mater,

where I would also compete nationally on the men's track team. All of this was possible thanks to

the support of my favorite person in the world, my dad. Growing up, as far back as I can possibly

remember, it was just me and dad. He had told me that my mother had given into her drug addictions

and walked out when I was still an infant. He always told me I had her personality,

that being said, he never was able to find her. Nobody knows if she is even alive.

My dad didn't hesitate to be the perfect dad, regardless of losing my mother.

You and I were a team. He always told me, together, there's nothing we can't handle.

And that was true. Every day, he'd take me to school and head straight to work, just to come home

and shuttle me to all my extra curriculars and still make time to help me study and do my homework.

Okay, so sometimes he forced me to do my homework, but it always got done before bed.

Dad was genuinely my best friend. Our bond was something most other guys just couldn't understand,

as they constantly fought and argued with their fathers. Not me though, we were a team.

There was nothing we couldn't handle. That is until there was no we anymore.

That weekend, we spent all Saturday moving my things into my new college dorm.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. We talked and laughed all day as we unpacked

and set up furniture together. We could only avoid the inevitable for so long though,

...