When I was five years old, my dads mom, my beloved gramma committed suicide. She drowned herself in the river. Our familys never gotten over it.
My gramma idolised me and I idolised her. She was a beautiful person. So loving, so full of life. We lived with her for the first 2 years after we were born. That was tough, as also living in her house besides us and our parents, were my aunt and uncle, our dads brother and sister. They’re both alcoholics.
Our aunt and uncle gave our gramma a torturous life. They tormented her and I believe that is what drove her to kill herself. Our uncle, whose still alive, and still drinking, actually knocked her over in the yard, a few months before her death, breaking her hip. She never fully recovered from that broken hip.
They my aunt and uncle would berate her, physically hurt her, and emotionally hurt her, you know how alcoholics can be. Our aunt is dead now, she died of cancer when we were 12. But its no wonder she couldnt take any more.
My memory of that day is this. Standing behind the little table in our sitting room, with my hands over my face, listening to everyone talking, while I cried. Nobody noticed me in the corner. Everyone was too caught up in what our gramma had done. Nobody knew I was listening to everything that was being said. Nobody cared.
I still miss my gramma. sometimes I wish she was still alive. My dad hardly ever talks about his mom. I think he cant. I think he finds it too hard to talk about. Our aunt whose home from the UK at the moment, said she took the easy way out. Suicide is not an easy way out. I wish our aunt was more understanding about mental illness. Anyone who thinks suicide is an easy way out is so misinformed.