I’m Supposed To Be Sad About My Parents’ Suicide, But The Truth Is Nothing’s Ever Made Me Happier

Dear Toby,

                  I’m assuming you have seen the photographs and are in dire need of an explanation. You’re scared. I understand.

Laura and I were scared too, when we lost our son Toby seven years ago. He hung himself in his room on the eve of his fourteenth birthday and neither of us had any idea why he had chosen such an extreme way to end his misery. We had observed him for several months and something definitely seemed off about him. He’d stopped playing Soccer, a game which had once meant the world to him and he seldom left his room when he was home. We tried to get him to talk to us but he just kept saying that everything was okay. We had our doubts but we never expected to be met with such a disastrous and sorrowful outcome.

Needless to say, Laura and I were devastated. Especially Laura. She completely stopped working, choosing to stay in bed all day and had to be given dangerously high doses of anti-depressants to get her to eat and sleep. She thought about him all day long, every single day and blamed herself for letting it happen. None of could manage to get through to her.

That was until I met you. I’d seen you a couple of times at Toby’s school and I thought you were a nice kid, always well dressed and well spoken. You were about the same age as Toby and looked a bit like him too. Well, we had a brief chat about Toby before I suggested that you come home with me to talk to Laura. I thought she might listen to one of her son’s friends.

Surprisingly, it worked. Laura began to get better and insisted on seeing you again. Soon, you came over almost every Friday after school. Just the sight of you made her so very happy; it was fulfilling to watch her smile after such a long, painful time. She always said that you reminded her of Toby, and this gave me an idea. An idea that I have now come to regret with all my heart.