In the past 4 years I’ve gone down this road a thousand times, searching for one thing, or any combination of one things I could have done or not done that might have prevented my son’s suicide. It’s part of processing trauma, and perhaps a requisite for moving forward, but in the end, it’s just shouting at windmills. For me, once I look up at the spinning blades and the clouds behind them I just long for one more moment with my son; the closure I cannot have.
Approaching Zero 