The morning after you killed yourself we went to secure the house. I knew immediately you suffered slowly. Among the papers, trash and clothes I found your lock box. The divorce paperwork to my mother, every card I gave you as a child. I found the pad you were writing on. Your Bible on coffee table, dried tears as you read Job.
The note had 11:30 a.m. written in corner. I could see you called your best friend and the phone number to a suicide line. There were words and a drawing that made no sense. Granny paralyzed, crying, asking why. The house ransacked, not sure anything made sense to her.
Dirty dishes piled high, nothing in refrigerator, how did you live like this, how long? You phoned me several times in the months before your death. Delusional and highly paranoid each time. Someone was tapping your phone, they were trying…
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