This morning I re-read something I wrote two years ago – and almost literally two years ago as it turns out.
Then the first thing I read online was a freshly pressed post about a suicide and the effect on those who loved and were left..and just now I heard an ad on the radio for father’s day gifts.
It all ties in dear reader, stay with me.
My own writing that I came across today was about the suicide of the father of one of youngest’s classmates…a couple of years ago now, and on father’s day. The last few days I’ve been doing short bursts of cleaning, out of character for me ha ha, and working my way through some piles of paperwork. The top of my desk is getting closer. And most of the paper is recyclable – really old bills, shopping lists!, things I can’t even remember.
And. then. this.
How do you tell your child, when they’re way across the sea, that their darling father has died and they have to come home for a funeral.
That he stabbed himself on father’s day.
Or that the cancer the doctors predicted would leave him another six months took him now.
How does she, at 19, at 23, make the flight arrangements, manage that long long trip with how many stops and changes. And then straight to the cremation. The next few days a blur of well wishers, a surreal centre of attention event.
Fifty year old me feels for that 19 year old. I was the 23 year old – I know almost the exact sequence she is going through.
Except that her darling father took his own life.
She’ll have questions – never answered. Blame – never dispelled no matter how many dollars on therapy.
His family will close ranks, comfort each other, surround his children with ‘love’ and support, never acknowledging their individual roles in his unhappiness.
That wasn’t fair Peter. I understand your level of despair, I really do, but that wasn’t fair to your little ones.
After I re-read it this morning I thought about posting it as is, or making it into fiction. If I did, it could elicit comments that aren’t relevant, I’m not in a dark place myself at the moment, I don’t want or need ideas on how to find life rosy. It’s more about using this blog as a filing system for writing, for my thoughts.
All the synchronicity around the timing of discovering it – it’s been on my mind all day so maybe if I file it here I can leave it.