So yesterday I turned on the news, and saw that you had committed suicide.
These days, I dread waking up in the morning. My dad is dying a dog’s death from a brain tumor, my mom has cancer that could recur any time, and I have been living in this hell for almost two years now. For the last three weeks, I have been sick myself and watched my parents suffer without being able to help. The only end I can see to this horrible situation is that my father will die, which means that he is released from his suffering and I from watching him suffer–and then there will be years of grief, and the rest of my life without him.
Life is such a fragile thing, and so precious.
My parents aren’t wealthy and famous like you were, but my mom fights every day, for one more breath for my father. I too would give anything to bring his mind and health back for another few years. Anything.
I feel empathy and compassion for the depression and isolation you must have gone through. Things must be bad when you decide the pain of ending it all is worse than the pain of going on. And people will say that severe depression is a sickness, it’s a chemical imbalance, etc., and I have no doubt that they are right.
But I have to admit that I alternate between feeling bad for you, and wishing that there were some process by which the life that healthy people abandon could be given to those who actually value it, and fight for it, and want to live.
Maybe you wished that too.