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Kendre's Story
My Dad’s presence, personality and parenting have been so influential in my life that, almost 8 years after his death, I still have a hard time speaking about him in the past tense. There are lessons he taught me when I was a child that I am just now beginning to understand and appreciate. That picture in the top right corner is me and my family on the day I got my driver’s license. One of my favorite lessons comes from when he was teaching me how to drive. Whenever it came time to merge, make an unprotected left turn, or cross a busy street, my dad would always say, “Baby Girl, when you make up your mind to do something, give it the gas and go! When you hesitate and second guess yourself, the consequences can be fatal.” I used to think that these were the words of a man trying to keep his car insurance premiums down, but since he’s been gone, I’ve had to take risks and step out in blind faith to achieve my goals. Whenever I feel apprehensive, I can hear my dad’s voice saying, “when you make up your mind to do something, give it the gas and go.”
Since his passing, our family has learned that my dad probably struggled with depression and bipolar disorder for over half of his life, and he hid it from everyone (except my mom) very well. I didn’t know about it until my senior year in high school, and most of our friends and extended family members had no idea until his funeral. My dad, like most men, felt the stigma attached to a mental health issue. He was worried about what people would say or think of him if they knew. More than that, he felt like admitting he was depressed was an admission of weakness—and that a real man, a descendant of ancestors who faced unspeakable odds, didn’t need any help getting over a little sadness. He was so wrong.
My dad’s bipolar disorder grew severe. My mother, brother and I rode the waves of the disease with him—the unpredictable, extreme highs and lows affected us all. Dad finally sought help, but it was difficult to get the dosage for his medication right. He gave it an honest try, but the fine tuning process for his medicine only made his mood swings more frequent and severe. After several unsuccessful changes in dosage, my dad decided to pursue treatment without medication. He seemed to be doing well for a while, but several months after going off the medicine, in a seemingly lucid period, he committed suicide.
The pain I’ve felt since my father’s death is indescribable, but my love for my dad drives me to keep his memory alive. Bipolar disorder is a disease that affects the brain just like any other disease affects any other part of the body. I am determined to get legislation passed that will educate mental health professionals and the public about suicide prevention and mental health disorders so that fewer people will have to feel the pain of losing a loved one to suicide.