Saturday, January 2, 2016
Suicide of a Middle-aged Man
Very few people in this world know, or admit to knowing, what it is like to awake in the morning and go through the normal routine. To see the sun hang low in the sky and push up toward it apex. To have children and dogs run through the house. To have a spouse cook breakfast. To sip a cup of coffee whil watching the news. And then suddenly, as if it were the song of a sparrow, a little voice saunters into your mind and says that today just might me a great day to put a bullet in your head. Of course, there are numerous considerations before anything can actually happen. First, it cannot be done within the sight or ear chit of the children. That is just mean spirited to make them live with an image or sound like that. Second, it should not leave too much of a mess; in fact, it shouldn't even take place in the home. We have a nice home and there is no reason to curse such a nice place with a grousing suicide. A home should be a sanctuary, not a graveyard. Third, the children should be with their mother because, again, it isn't fair for them to bear the burden of my going away. They are just children, after all. Fourth, one should make a list of passwords and locations of important information that will eventually be required for who knows what. Still, those things are important, especially since the death of a husband creates an undo burden on the wife. There are so many arrangements to be made, and my wife really is a very busy woman; therefore, I wouldn't want to give her too much additional work. That brings me to another point, child care. Undoubtedly, the children will need some sort of before and after school care since I won't be around anymore to take care of such things. Fortunately, elementary schools have after school programs, but middle schools do not, especially for children in the autism spectrum. Maybe respite services will come in handy. I am sure that a few close friends and family members will be willing to help out for a short time, at least.
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