Ring!

I ran to the door and quickly opened the door with the key and opened it so she could come in.

Aunt Tina looked around the house until her eyes cast upon the living room entrance. She quickly ran inside to my father and held him, rocking him backwards and forwards, until he stopped shouting and started softly whispering to himself.

Aunt Tina looked at my father with such love and longing in her eyes that it shocked me.

I know that I should hate her since she was one of the reasons why my mother left life the way she did, but I don't think I have the strength to hate someone who already hates themselves so much and I know I don't have the strength to lose yet another family member.

"Have you called the therapist yet?" Aunt Tina queried.

"No." I said emotionless. Even though I may not hate her or want to lose her, that doesn't mean that I like her.

"Well, can you please call them now, he needs an emergency appointment."

I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to process why we would need a therapist before I remember my father. Before I remember how everything was my fault.

Again.

I walk to get my phone on the table and call my father's therapist. She knows that I hate calling people, and that I only do it when I am desperate, like today when I called Aunt Tina.

The phone dials and then I wait for it to ring. It rings, once, twice then three times and eventually six times. Just as I was about to give up, she picks up breathless.

"Hello?" I say into my phone.

"Hi, I am so sorry, I couldn't find my phone and then I had to ran to get it before it went to voice mail." she said still breathless. "So what is the problem?"

"You know exactly what it is." I mutter lowly trying to control my anger.

I am not angry at her, but myself.

Always myself.

"Bring him in as soon as possible, or should I come round?" she questioned, unsure.

I looked at my father. He was in no way ready to be moved out of that hunched up position he was on the coach.

"Can you come over please, as soon as possible." I utter quietly.

"Okay, see you soon." she mutters.

I just hang up and sit on the coach opposite my father and watch him.

I sit and watch the shadow of a father I had crumble into pigments before me all because of me.

My breathing started to get more shallow, and I became more breathless. I started to feel the walls closing in, constricting me from a clean air supply.

Quickly, I clumsily gathered myself and got off the coach and out of the room. I enter the hallway with the room spinning, but I quickly get my keys and unlock my front door and plunge myself outside into the clean fresh air. Immediately, I feel better. The cold wave of clean air washes over me making me feel free again. No longer constricted to catastrophic room walls.

I sit down on my front porch, still gulping the air down my lungs greedily, as a red convertible showed up on my driveway. I quickly got up and met Lucy Brad-well, my father's therapists. As we walked inside my house and into the living room, I explained to her exactly what happened. How I ruined everything again. She didn't blame me, in fact, she said that she would have done the same. That doesn't mean that what I did was right, but it was understandable.

The first command Lucy issued was to make him a glass of hot chocolate for my father since the heat and taste of it may bring him out of his daze, but if that didn't work to prepare a bucket of ice cold water in a basin or bucket so that we could pour it over him.

These may not seem like the best methods to help him, but they are definitely the most effective. I know by experience.

My Aunt Tina quickly made a mug of hot chocolate and put the cup in my father's hands while holding it tightly in place with her own, in case he let go of it.

Immediately, my father sprung up, burnt from the heat of the mug. He then looked around him confused and out of his stupor.

"Where am I?"He questioned almost to himself.

I stood there shocked and confused. What does he mean by where am I?

I took a step closer to him, while he tried to push himself futher towards the wall.

"Father, don't you remember where we are?" I ask.

Stupid question, of course he doesn't, he just asked us if we knew where he was.

"We are in the same house we have always lived in. Remember me, your daughter, Crystal who you live here with?" I subtly question, trying to figure out his condition.

"My daughter. i don't have a daughter." he said emotionless.

I laughed bitterly.

"Of course you do. You have me, Crystal, your daughter."

He just looked at me with no sign of emotion in his eyes, and that was what scared me.

His cold blue eyes normally showed signs of hurt, pain longing. He was never able to mask his emotions, well not until now.

"I don't have a daughter, and for Pete's sake, can you please joking around with me and tell me what is actually going on here." he said in a hard cold tone, frustrated.

"No you do have a daughter I am your daughter, dad please don't do this to me." I bellowed as tears started springing from my eyes, leaving trails of tear stains on my cheeks.

I haven't called him dad in so many years. I am even shocked I remembered how to call him that, but I am desperate not to lose anyone again.

"I don't and can you stop insisting that I do!" He screamed all of a sudden, his eyes a blazed and wild in anger."I would know if I had a daughter. You are all crazy!" He shouted getting up and using his hands to emphasis his point.

At this point, all I could do was stare at him.

My heart shattered like a piece of crystal that had fallen. I felt like my world has come crashing down.

Remember how I said that I couldn't afford to lose anyone else? Well I was right, I can't. But it seemed like God had over ideas.

I looked at the man who used to be my dad, a person who I admired, looked up to and loved. I looked at the man who used to be my father, someone who looked after me and cared for me and pushed me to do my best. I looked at the man who used to be a shadow of a father, a person who I knew loved me really and who was trying.Trying to pick up the broken pieces of not only his life, but also mine and who was trying furiously to fix it. I looked at the man who I pushed over the edge until he tipped and fell, and I want to so desperately catch him but I know I won't make it.

I lost him.

He fell.

And it is all my fault.

So I guess I was wrong when I said that I was like a piece of crystal that had fallen and shattered.

I am a piece of shattered crystal.

Ironic, huh?