I want to apologize for “going dark” the past week, but the day that I have dreaded every morning for nearly three years came to be. On Tuesday August 27th my father was found dead. He took his own life.
The cause of death will be listed as a suicide. However, I consider this to be another casualty of the cancer that took my mother’s life three years earlier. It did not erode my father physically. It killed him mentally.
That Tuesday morning will be the worst day of my life because it came like a bolt from the heavens. I may have dreaded the phone call for the past three years but I felt that my father was getting to a place where suicide was less of a concern. I was wrong.
It was the worst day of my life because it was so sudden. My mother slipped away over a period of months. I was prepared for her death even if I never wanted to see that day dawn. My father was just gone.
People will tell me that there was nothing that I could have done. I believe that only in part because deep down I feel that there was something that I could have done. There must have been something I could have done different or better.
No one has the words to describe such a situation and the wounds do not heal.