By Jessica Williams
At 16 years old, I watched my father be lifted into an ambulance only to see his lifeless, tall body a short time later in a cold hospital room. After they removed the breathing machines, my mother removed his wedding ring from his limp hand. She gave it to me to keep. It would be the last time we would see him and I would never hear his voice or be comforted by his warm hugs again. The next day I returned to school because I desperately wanted to feel normal.
Two years later, I was failing college.