In my quest to know why Dad took his life, I have learned things I never knew before. Each new fact tortures me. The cup analogy plays in my mind. I know no one single thing decided that fateful moment when he decided, he'd had enough. Many things contributed to his mindset. He had seen so much in the wars, he had been through so much personal heartache. I am not trying to find someone to blame for his death, but I am trying to figure out how Dad could feel suicide was the only answer.

I knew my Dad believed the cancer was back. He had lost weight, over 60 pounds. He felt weak, and complained of how he couldn't do things any more. He was tired. He had been to the doctors. Later, after his death... I found out he had been in the ER the weekend before..... I found out after, he was suppose to go to his doctors at 3pm, he killed himself at noon. He didn't wait for testing. We will never know if the cancer was indeed back. But, truly what does that matter? I suppose the only thing that did matter, is that in his mind, he "knew" it was back.......

What is troubling me now, is I recently found out that my Dad did confide to his doctor that he was depressed. Obviously nothing was done to help him. I have been torturing myself with this new found knowledge. Had I known, I might have been able to save him! I sit here now, wondering WHY his doctor didn't offer him any sort of help? I am shocked that my proud father admitted to a professional that he was depressed, yet no steps were taken. I feel, he could have been saved. I feel a compelling need to make sure this doesn't happen again. I am unsure of what I will do. But, I know I have to do something.