Today marks three years since my stepfather died. I'm feeling very heavy and sad. This anniversary is particularly heartbreaking. My stepfather committed suicide. I'm not angry with him about his choice; he was a man in deep psychological pain and did not know any other way out. What I regret is that I did not realise how deep his pain went. I regret not being more present for him. I regret not recognising the signs about what he was going to do. I don't know if I could have changed anything, but I'm always haunted by the thought that I could have.
His death started the stopwatch ticking down the end to my time with my Mum. They were married for 31 years. They were each other's world. He was her carer as she was a Bipolar sufferer. His death sent her spiralling, her body under pressure at her broken heart. She died 10 months after him, hypertension the official cause of death, grief the true culprit.
Her death marked the end of so many things, things I can't even dwell on because the pain is too deep. So today I need to just feel this sadness and pain.
I am an author, reader and teacher.
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