The water running down his gravestone matches the tears running down my face as i wonder, did he think about me at all? Did he imagine me kneeling at his grave as he had watched me do countless times for Bertie? Did he not think of what his choice would do to me, to his son?

Ive had the evidence pack through for the inquest. This includes the post mortem in all its gory glory.  Guess what? Turns out he was perfectly healthy, apart from being dead. What a waste. Of his life, of our future.

Someone once asked me if I thought suicide was ever forgivable. No, i dont think i can forgive him. Tell me he was mentally ill, he died of mental illness, however you want to phrase it. No. He chose not to get help. He chose to hide his demons. He chose to leave us.

I can't forgive him. 

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