The rest of the day was a blur.
I have no recollection of what happened and it was sometime later that I found out my Father was at my Godmothers house when he made the call to us.
I wonder what they talked about?
I wonder if Aunty Barbara was able to console him?
I wonder if she held him just for a moment so that he knew he was loved?
I wonder what was going through his haggard mind?
He had lost everything, his wife, his children, his self respect-his mind…
At some stage, either that day or the next, my brothers went home to collect some belonging’s for us.
This is their account of what happened;
They awoke the sleeping Giant when going upstairs and his rage was tenfold. My father tried to stop my brother Ashley taking clothes from my bedroom and demanded to know where we were. He refused his fathers enforcing and all hell broke out.
The dog was going crazy once again, confused as to whom he should protect and somehow during the eruption, the younger of my two brothers, who was only 17, had his head jammed in-between my wardrobe sliding door by our father.
A scene of commotion.
My brothers have said that he would have killed them to get to us.
They escaped the house and took the dog with them.
Everything that he had ever loved was gone and now his home was not his home, it was his external prison too.
An unbearable prison.
During a conversation with my Mother not so long ago, she added another layer to the story that was kept from me for many years. On entering the house, my brothers were hit with the stench of gas. My father had opened the oven door, left the gas on and gone upstairs to lay down.
I have no words to describe the pain that is inside of me now that must have been inside of him at that very moment, to arrive at a place in his life where he believed he could no longer live.
I felt that feeling for a split second some time ago when driving home one day in floods of angry tears. The thought crossed my mind at how easy it would be to drive the car at speed off of the downs and end all of the overwhelming inner turmoil that had been plaguing my life for so long.
Just for a split second…
and I reached out for help.
Depression, drugs, trauma, loss, grief, devastation, abuse, loneliness, self disgust and anything else you can throw into his dark pot, had WON the emotional and personal battle that he was fighting.
He didn’t want to live anymore.
He couldn’t live anymore.
© All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019