This is all I have of my father, a newspaper clipping. It reminds me every time that it was my fault. If hadn’t gone to see him at the shopping mall where he was working, so eager to show him my carnival costume, he wouldn’t have been distracted.
The hostage-takers saw him turn away to shout at me to leave and took advantage. They shot him dead on the spot. I was running because Daddy never shouted at me like that. I was only five. I know now that he was scared, terrified that I was in danger but it cost him his life and in the end has cost me my sanity.
One thoughtless action by a small child destroyed a family. That has been so hard to live with that my mind has run away from it. That’s how it started, how it will end, me running.