Twelve years ago, my father committed suicide with a gun he was able to purchase at a gun store, unbeknownst to me. He was beyond help, as his severe depression ate away at his soul my entire childhood. After that fateful day, when my mom returned home and found him lying motionless in a pool of blood in the backyard of my childhood home, I have never been the same. I don’t hate people, but I hate and have disowned his older brother, who abused my father in every way possible throughout his childhood. I don’t know what or how to feel other than grief. I am honoring my father’s life. He was truly a good man.