My father's suicide and its aftermath is what has informed so much of my identity as an adult. I was 21 when he died, that in-between age where you're too old to be a kid, but too young to feel like an adult. In my grief, I found myself straddling the line the same way I did during my days in hospital as a kid.
Despite the frightening experiences in the hospital as a child, the immense physical, mental, and emotional toll cancer treatment took on my father had a profound impact on me. His last days, marked by his suffering and the personality changes from radiation, were a heartbreaking reality check.
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