Relentless

I can almost guarantee no one reads this blog religiously, so you can be forgiven for being unaware of how suicide seems to follow me like a shadow. I'm afraid to say it has tapped my shoulder once again.

Last Monday, I found my Grandfather laying in his back garden on concrete, after jumping from the top window of the house he has owned for 57 years. Covered in blood, with his head having obvious injuries from a brick resting near, miraculously he was conscious and breathing. I will never forget how that brick looked, the unfamiliar sound of his voice as he asked me what had happened, nor the smell of blood. It was almost as if I had broken my own teeth, and could taste it first hand.

I rang for an ambulance, and as they took him to hospital carried out the formalities with police and paramedic crews. Myself and my Nan, until this point oblivious to events, were sped to the hospital in tow. I alerted the family who eventually met us in Accident and Emergency.

My Grandad passed away on Wednesday the 24th of June 2009, official cause of death a heart attack. The pathologist felt his injuries were not consistent with falling from a first floor window. The first time we heard anything of a heart attack was 2 days after his death, are they that hard to spot for paramedics, and intensive care, to all have missed that he had experienced a heart attack? Are they not ten a penny?

I know in my heart what happened. I know in my guilt that my Grandad committed suicide to end a life that was only going to get worse for him. Everyone seems to be in defense mode, not facing the truth, saying his last few seconds with his obvious fear and open mouth frantically gasping for any last oxygen allowed, was a peaceful end.

I have no idea what label is normally attached to how I feel at the moment, for that matter it is probably more than one. I just need my Grandad to know I loved him, and I'm sorry if I could have done more. I'm so very, very sorry.