When my dad killed himself with my gun I was 15 years old. As I went by the casket at the end of the service I wanted to touch him one last time si I reached over and touched his hand. I was shocked it was so cold. I am forever glad that I did. I had so much I had to deal with. In my family I was trained to take care of the women so I could expect no support. However, I did not have to struggle as I am struggling over my sister Evelyn’s death trying to accept she gone. With my beloved Dad his cold hand allowed me to accept that fact immediately.
