As sure as I write these words, I know people are going to feel the sting of my death. Hours, days, weeks, months and years will be spent asking the basic question: what could I have done?
If I only I had known.
I’m not sure you could have known. I’m not sure that there was anything you could do. I did the best I could; put up with as much shit as what I could. I have held onto too many burdens; kept too many things secret, without having a way of shedding them.
I am not so naive as to believe that my death will have absolutely no effect on people. They will weep and mourn. Some will pick themselves up and carry on, and others-well, the pain may be too strong to bear.
I learned a long time ago that it does no good to talk things out. You either hurt someone’s feelings, or get hurt in the process. Talking doesn’t erase the pain; the torment.
I will miss you all-your smiles, your hugs. Tonight, I knelt down on the floor, and held each of my children close; one at a time. I laughed, they laughed. They are daddy’s pride and joy. I think they will miss me the most.
I do have one request. At my funeral, play Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven. It has always been one of my favorites and has gotten me through rough times in the past.
As much as you may not want to believe it, I love you all.
This would be my suicide note. If I was actually committing suicide. In a documentary years back, I saw where therapists had depression patients that were suicidal, write out a false suicide note to loved ones.
It ain’t as easy as it sounds.