My dad, was always there for me. I was too young too understand why we were taking trips around DC aimlessly, or why I would spend days at my grandparents' house for no apparent reason. I didn't get why he would be so mad.
Going with him to his friend's house while they drank was a normal night. Taking hours to go get us some food, I thought that was just the way he was. Then one day everything changed. He told me he was going to get all of us McDonalds. That was the last time I saw him.
Two weeks later, my dad was found in his car in DC, murdered. Everyone knows his drug dealers did it, although it's still not proven to this day. His addiction, and his lack of money to support it, killed him.
I was only 11, and I didn't know what to think. It changed the way my life went and how it's still going. I did drugs myself. I had anger issues. I am still struggling to accept what happened.