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Location: Linsdale, NY
I have returned to my father’s house after his suicide. It’s eerie being here. Not just because he’s dead but also because we really didn’t talk much this whole year.
I see now that I was avoiding my father because he was getting so depressed that it scared me. I didn’t want to be around him like that. He seemed so old and frail and sad. I fled to Princeton where I could keep in touch with him by video chat on a “regular basis.” I’m such a fucking coward.
The house has changed a lot since I was last here. All his notes and books, normally organized, are scattered and messy. There was almost no food in the fridge. I threw most of it away. It looks as though he was not taking proper care of himself. I feel ashamed and guilty, responsible in some ways for his suicide. I’m going to stay here for the next two days cleaning and collecting items.
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