I lost my dad, Jim, to suicide in the summer of 1978, two weeks after my 10th birthday, but I didn’t discover he’d taken his own life until I was 45 years old. So, I've actually lost my father twice in my lifetime—once to what I was told was a heart attack and again, 35 years later, when I learned that he’d died by suicide. Two very different types of losses and two radically different types of grief that I needed to learn to process. And I had to come to terms with the fact that my beautiful father—my person—was mentally ill and suffering in silence.
Sadly, my dad was struggling at a time when mental illness was considered shameful and taboo, so couldn't be saved. But others can. And that’s why I’m here.