My Dad committed suicide about 5 years ago.
I really do not want to delve into this on Christmas Eve, so I will give the abridged version.
Dad was diagnosed at 72, with an inoperable, grade 4 brain tumour. It was only a matter of time. He did the obligatory radiation and chemo treatments, developed chemical depression (according to drs) and decided he’d had enough.
It was the day after my birthday, which he forgot. That kind of takes the shine off my birthday each year now.
He had a good life. I don’t blame him for doing it. I hate the way he had to do it himself, all alone. That is the worst bit.
Please don’t think I’m sitting here crying. I’m not. I’m at peace with it. But it should be known. It’s a significant piece of my life. It can be a touchy subject, but mostly it’s just what it is.
Maybe I will go into it more at a later date. But maybe not. It’s what it is.