Giving in to the inevitable
Well I've read most of the stories and to be honest I feel pretty sad. I posted something earlier on today - deciding that I would skate over the major dead body story I have in my past. Fear I suppose. It's weird actually because this week has been all about suicide for me. Before anyone panics and thinks that an EMO has infiltrated us, or that I'm considering the Great Final Fuck You; all I mean is that the book I'm reading is suddenly about suicide. I sat down and watched “The Number 23” on Sky the other night (without a clue as to it’s content, lots of suicide for those who’ve not seen the film - to those who have seen the film, please accept my commiserations - there’s 2 hours I’m never getting back either) I seem to switch on the TV and there always seems to be someone talking about Bridgend, and now I’m reading QOTW and the suicides mount up to pile of poor dead people.

I’m wondering whether someone is trying to tell me something.

That someone being my Dad. A few years ago, my Dad became quite horribly depressed. It was sudden and brutal. One minute it was Christmas and we were all having a great laugh, the next it was February and suddenly my Dad couldn’t go to work anymore. He’d been ill before, but nothing like this. I’d call him in the morning and ask him to come over, just to get him out of the house. I had one small child in school, one in nursery. I’d split up with my husband in the June, and my house got a repossession order in January. I was frazzled. I listened to my Dad, but he couldn’t hear my crappy cliches about “It could be worse, at least the kids are ok“ etc etc. I just sort of watched him decline, unable to help as I think I was probably going slightly off the rails myself at the time.

Anyway. A week before my birthday, I went to see my parents. My Mum was absolutely exhausted. It’s very tiring living with a clinically depressed person. He came downstairs and said, shaking his head “My_Cat, I’m bad, I feel really bad”, I said “Sort yourself out Dad, just sort it, OK?”*. The next day he was due to go into hospital for a psychiatric evaluation; he hung himself. He used belts and did it from the banister of the stairs he used to give me a “firemans’ lift” to bed on. My mum found him, cut him down with super human strength and went screaming into the street. The HORROR.

I got the call and went into absolute shock. When I arrived at my parents’ house there was an ambulance outside and 2 police cars. It was surreal. I felt very calm. I walked up to my door. The door I’ve always considered home, despite the fact that I hadn’t lived there in years was open and I saw a foot. My poor Dad’s dead foot. The Police who were inside suddenly appeared and herded me next door before I could see anymore.

Yuck, I wondered if telling this might make me feel better, but I don’t. Maybe because *last words I ever spoke to him

Anyway, I was angry for AGES. I couldn’t believe that he could have been so selfish. I’ve come to some kind of acceptance now, he was ill - if cancer had taken him away it would have a different, but I often find myself having to lie about his death. People are so uncomfortable with mental illness, it’s easier to just say “Oh yes he died unexpectedly” and if questioned further I tend to say “It was a tragic accident” and leave it at that. A haughty eyebrow usually stops the nosy. Maybe I’ll always be a bit angry, but that’s OK too.

Oh and we all live in the same house now by the way, me my kids and my mum. It’s still our home and the tragedy that happened here will not win.

EDIT: I mean the suicide of my dad will not win - we are happy here all of us together. It's been quite a number of years.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:06, Reply)