My father committed suicide
, his death has been blamed on several things - suicide
genes, my mother
, mid life crisis, guilt
and probably other things I didn't get to hear about.
on my father's side committed suicide also - perhaps he passed his suicide genes on to my father. I hope they skip over the children that may be born to my sister
s and I. Perhaps it was just some strange genetic skipping stone.
It could have been my mother
. She drove him insane
, she drove him to drink
ing, she drove him away, and she reel
ed him back. She played fetch
with his heart. She turned his children
against him. She made it impossible for him to carry on.
It was probably his age. He was 40
years old when he killed himself. The stripper
s wouldn't take him seriously, he drove a station wagon
. He was too skinny and he had a big nose
, he didn't have any sons
and his life was going nowhere
. It would have been too much for anybody.
Then again, guilt
can really tear a man apart. When you scar
your wife and daughter
s so deeply with your words and actions
, and you have to watch them struggle
with what you've done, how can you live with yourself
It could have been simpler than that. Maybe the insurmountable sum of money
that he owed to the government
was behind it all. If he wasn't being cheated
by the man, perhaps he wouldn't have pulled the trigger
Of course it could always be my fault
, which I was reminded of about a month before he did it. I ruined his life by being born. It destroyed his chances of being a success
in this world. Somehow, this doesn't ring true.
What it comes down to is that suicide
was his choice. It was a good choice
. If he hadn't made that choice, one of my sisters and I would have made it for him.
He killed himself because he was a selfish asshole
who pushed himself over the edge. He deserves my hate and continued disrespect because he was found with an additional 4 shotgun shells
- one for my mother, one for me, one for my sister Michelle, and one for my sister Vanessa. He wrote a note blaming my mother. He left us a fifth of Jack Daniels, a Doors
cassette, some porno magazines, debt, and those haunting 4 shells.
This is how I remember my father. A pathetic man who craved conflict, and was desperate for attention. A man who snuck into my bedroom when I was 8 years old and told me to be quiet as he lifted up my nightgown. A man who choked me with one hand and told my mother that he would kill me if she didn't call off her divorce talks. A man who humiliated my sister for having a problem pronouncing "s" at age 4. A man who picked up and threw a child
headfirst into the breakwater
. A man who prompted his children to hide knives under their mattresses. A man who lined up his young children, told them to touch their toes, and would kick them across the room, calling it "football practice."
A man who deserved to die.