Worst. Experience. Ever.

The day my father strung himself up. My big sister went downstairs to make breakfast for me and my older brother. We were three and seven respectively, and my sister was twelve. She was getting out something when she looked out the window to the back yard. Probably not a good idea, sweety. She lost the color in her face, and brought the curtain down. She led us to our room and told us to stay there while she called the police. We weren't quite sure what was going on, but hey! I thought policemen were awesome! Maybe they'd bring a firetruck! He picked up a book, rolled his eyes, and started reading. The policemen came, and we were still in our room. I wanted to run out and greet the policemen, but my brother stopped me. Our sister came in and said we should get dressed because she called our Aunt to pick us up. While we were driving away, my brother and I looked in the back yard and saw my dad hanging there. I can still remember that he was wearing the red shirt my mom had given to him on christmas, and the three policemen around him. My brother and I looked at each other, horrified, then turned away. We've never really talked about it.