By Maya Friedson The day I became the other person to lose their father to suicide I was 18 and on a plane going home. “Flight attendants, please prepare for take-off,” rang through the speakers.
As I reached over to silence my phone, it buzzed. The words of a text read: “His father is dead.” As I was putting the phone away, it buzzed again. “It was suicide.” I sighed deeply.
I too had gone through what he was now experiencing. The day I became the other person to lose their father to suicide I remembered why sympathy doesn’t cut it.
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