The following letter was a comment left on my post, “What Suicidal Depression Feels Like” (in which I compared the act of suicide to a sneeze).
For those of you contemplating that sneeze, please consider:
I am the father of a now deceased son. My first born. My namesake. Before he was born I had no desire for children. I was satisfied with other worldly pursuits and my beautiful wife. She desired children and I was happy to do my part. Once he was born, I would tell the world that I did not joy until I saw him toddling through my house.
He sneezed a year ago. His 24th birthday is in a couple of days. Now I add to my statement of knowing joy through him. I add: I did not know agony until his took his life.
I have to pause as I write this to clear the tears from my face.
The agony he bore that made death look better than life did not die with him. It has been passed on to his mother and I, His brothers and sisters, His family and friends. If he could have born it a little longer we would have sought out new meds and treatments. There was at least hope.
Now they joys of life for his mother and I are all tainted. They tear at the hole in our heart left by his death. These are things we can no longer hope for him, the weddings and successes of his friends, cousins, and siblings. A cousin of his is to be wed this week end. Instead of a joyous event, it will now be bitter sweet and no doubt tearful.
I know this urge to sneeze must be a terrible cross. But if not for you own sake, please bear the cross for those that love you, and hope!
From a still deeply morning father.