He was my first love…my dad.
His hand was always available to hold. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to change a tire, shoot a gun and threatened the first boy who broke my heart.
Not every memory is that of perfection. That’s from my dad, too…realism. Honesty. Truth. He always said they were the better way.
But, five years ago, the real world dealt me a terrible hand. My father, at the age of 66, took his own life. They call that suicide. I’m still not sure what to call it. For me, it’s a combination of anger, loss, turmoil, grief, questions, guilt, etc. A single word doesn’t seem big enough to contain the full expanse of emotions.
I’m still not that comfortable talking about it. I still get mad at the family history he left my children. I still don’t understand.
He taught me the joy of life and we shared a great deal of that happiness together. He expected me to get good grades and always told me how much common sense I had (in a jar somewhere 🙂 ).
I beat him fair and square in a one on one basketball game and he never quite admitted it. We all have our pride.
I wonder if there was anything I could have done to prevent his choice to end his life and I hear him say: “woulda, coulda, shoulda…don’t dwell.”
The anger sometimes bubbles up. The loss stings, like a fresh wound. The grief can punch me in the gut and steal my breath.
I don’t think I will ever understand.
That’s real…honest and truthful. He always said they were the better way.
4 thoughts on “5 Years Ago…”
Times of remembering my sister and her suicide bring introspection before THE MERCIFUL ONE from here, Toni. HIS consolation until THE GREAT UNSORTING, Unc’ – – and Harley
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Thanks, Uncle Joe. Much love to you! ❤
Thanks for sharing Toni. I’m sure it’s hard to maybe even see the word, “Suicide” without some of those feelings creeping in. I had a childhood friend take his life at like age 12, and ever since then, I’ve always been fascinated by the topic. I remember the opening scene of the movie, The Big Chill, where they are dressing a man (apparently it was Kevin Costner who never gets his face shown in the movie) and at the end, they pull down his shirt sleeve to cover the stitches in his wrist. I just realized that this is another story that begins with the end (Fragmented Narrative). I hope you’re well! All the Best.
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I apologize, Scott! I never saw this very thoughtful comment and I’m not sure how I missed it. You’re right- it’s difficult to view the word itself. I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. Twelve! I can’t even imagine. Hope you are well and please forgive my carelessness in not getting back!