Death

“Push harder Dad!”, I recall my young-self shouting, as my Dad assisted my first tentative attempt at riding a bicycle. Mind you it had small wheels so I was quite safe, but you see, Dad`s push was key to obtain more speed.

In his younger years, my Dad was the jolly-happy-go-lucky type, he loved his village festa, although maybe he drank too much at times, and would make sure to entertain me whenever he had the chance. He took me to the beach, even though he didn`t know how to swim, so he made sure to remain in shallow waters, while advising me to stay around and not venture far off.

He worked as a policeman, he loved the job, the uniform, he was dedicated, but that same career was not going to be kind with him. He had his night shifts, so there were days were we wouldn`t even meet. While I was at school, he would sleep, then he went off for his night shift, while Mum took care of me.

Mum would say that he was the romantic type, he used to buy her flowers, chocolates and write her love letters or cards.

Then, sadly, during my teenage years, things started to change…

Dad was keen to end our home rent, and buy a nice house. There was one he was excited about. It wasn`t to be.

My nanna passed away, which brought obvious sorrow in the family, my Mum wept and didn`t want to face a relocation. Instead, she wished that we go and stay at nanna`s house which was now empty, and already furnished. My Dad gave in, but he resented that decision for years to come.

At the time he started having issues at work too, a couple of colleagues tried to blame him for something he didn`t do, he even ended up in front of the chiefs, who questioned him, and took it badly. It turned out that he was being framed, and wasn’t accused of anything, but it left him with a deep scar.

All these events, nanna`s passing, losing that house he liked and trouble at work, took a toll on him, and my parents even started to quarrel often, so much that I used to exit the house and go for a walk, or meet friends, dreading the return. The atmosphere was tense, I wasn`t comfortable anymore in my own home, Dad would shout at times, I didn`t recognise him anymore.

Then it happened. The first time my Dad tried to commit suicide he leapt from our own roof. We heard the thud, ran outside and dragged him inside the house. He was in pain with broken bones, and ended in hospital. The medics noted what happened and recommended pills to assist him, more mentally than physically.

My Mum and I would visit him often, he spent a couple of months in that ward, but he didn`t improve. He was often sad and cried together with Mum. I had pity on the man, life can be so cruel changing people that way.

On his discharge from hospital, we welcomed him home, Mum cooked his favourite food, and we had a nice weekend almost like the good old days.

Dad grew strangely quiet though, maybe with hindsight we could have done something more for him (?), but sometimes you`re at a loss,. We weren’t given access to his emotions, while I was still young to fully comprehend.

In fact I was almost angry with him, since I wasn`t enjoying my teenage years to the fullest, while sometimes instead of going out with friends I had to take care of him and Mum, who was visibly affected. In reality though Dad wasn`t doing it on purpose.

He had to stop from the work he used to love, and Mum started working in a stationery, then as a saleswoman in a jewellery. She would come home tired, while Dad would still be on the couch were she had left him in the morning, depressed. I tried to help by washing the dishes, doing the beds, shopping, but we were all so sad, it was like a black cloud had rested on our home and wouldn`t budge.

This went on for a couple of years. We were all tired with this life, with the routine, I wondered if it would ever end. The quiet, the boredom, interrupted by shouting and discussions at home, with me escaping, either in my room listening to music on my headset, or out with friends.

Then one day my Dad told me to keep taking care of Mum, as she was a good woman, and that he will soon end our misery because of him. I told him not to do anything stupid, as he should know that we were there for him.

Still, the fateful day arrived. It seemed inevitable.

I got to know after. My Mum was pleasantly surprised that Dad had come around at her workplace, he never did. He told her that he was feeling at peace, he even went to church. He hugged her, they chatted a while, then he left, also since customers started entering the store.

A couple of hours passed, and police called at my Mum`s workplace to break the sad news, while she wept uncontrollably. It seems that Dad had planned how to leave this cruel world once and for all, he chose the sea, he didn`t know how to swim, and it worked…

The days that followed were accompanied by the obvious grief, remembrance, relatives, friends and neighbours visiting, more memories unearthed each time, sobbing, trying to sooth the pain, the disbelief, then repeat. All offering their assistance, for which we never opted.

Months rolled, and although we felt almost guilty to admit it, Mum and I were happier, laughter returned to our home, we helped each other and I didn`t escape anymore, I didn`t have to.

Death is always bad in every form, and depressed suicidal people need continuous assistance. We will never know if we could have done more for my Dad, he seemed so determined to leave this world, he was convinced that we will be better off without him. In a way we were, he wasn`t the Dad I knew before, he was suffering inside, daily. Sometimes you can`t oblige someone to remain, I guess.

For our family, death left anguish, pain and scars which will never heal completely, and we still cry talking about Dad.

Admittedly though, my Dad`s death was liberating, for him and for us, death seemed to be the only way. Sad but true.