Year Eighteen

thoughts on my Dad’s suicide

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

It’s the 18th anniversary of my dad’s death.
He killed himself.

I wish there were some less offensive words to describe what happened. I think the words commit suicide sounds so violent. I guess it’s a violent act when one turns on himself. So I am trying on ‘killed himself’ today.

I swamp he was in that much pain.
I swamp I couldn’t stop it.
I heard a voice when I left and I knew something was about to shift forever. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew.
I swamp I left to go away for the weekend.
I swamp he was supposed to go too and he refused.
I swamp it was my then-husband’s birthday and I chose to go celebrate. I chose to go away for the weekend even when my Dad wouldn’t come.
I swamp it was my daughter’s birthday 2 days later and I held her 6th birthday party inside of that pain.

I have a wide range.

I swamp my sister found him. I swamp we haven’t spoken in 3.5 years.
I swamp I had to deliver the news to my grandma that her son had attempted to take his own life.
I am grateful he lived 8 weeks in the hospital and that there was hope.