Two years ago, today, my hero decided that he would take his life away from us. "Dad," I remembered saying, while trying to stem the pathetic flow from his wrists, "Dad, wake up."
How could someone so happy die of sadness? How can a father be so frail?
I stared longingly, achingly, at the sleeping pills on my nightstand. Maybe I could be frail too, just like my dad. Maybe I could be free...