My Dad's Suicide and Me

My father committed suicide when i was 19 years old.

I always feel ashamed to say it. Like its a dirty word. Suicide. But why? Maybe its because to know that someone was struggling that much and I was unable to help, to the point where they felt it all had to end, is something I can never forget or forgive myself for. But that needs to change,

My dad was such a loving, kind and caring man and I feel his loss in every way, every day and everywhere. When he passed, me and my family were in denial. No one grieved. We just resumed normal life and buried what we were feeling. Because how can you ever process the fact that he decided to leave?

But as we have gotten older, and the years have started to fly by, I notice my grief comes out in other ways. Ways i wouldn't expect. I feel it in how i interact with people and how i conduct myself. I don't sit still. Maybe its because i know when i will, i will have to process what happened, or maybe its because in his death, i have seen the beauty and fickleness of life. I know seize everyday with both of my hands, I want to travel and see the world, meet and interact with people I normally wouldn't, experience new things. Because you never know when life is going to change. And so in his death I have miraculously seen the beauty in life.

But its crazy the way we can process and grieve without knowing we are doing it.

Anyway the point of this story is to say to anyone who has experienced the same thing, that you will be okay./ I know think of suicide as a brave act, one that someone must be brave to face and so I will always admire my dad. For more reasons than I can count.