The Suicide Diary Read Online Free PDF

much worse for him to have a wonderful parent taken from you too soon, rather than one that didn’t quite cut it in the winning parents category walk out on you.
    Conor moved on to the floor and knelt before a chest of drawers. His cheeks were still wet but he didn’t seem to notice. He brought a box out from the bottom drawer and sat with it on the bed, so I moved to sit across from him with the box between us. I was scared to breathe too loudly in case it brought him out of this strange trance he seemed to be in. He sat glaring at this small box and I guessed he had sat like this before. After a few moments passed I slowly reached over and lifted the lid and placed it on the bed. His eye didn’t move from the box and I followed his gaze to look inside. It was beautiful and filled with small stacks of memories tied up with ribbon and each with a little card note. There were photos and mementos he could look back on over the years and what looked like a notebook. I opened it and there was handwritten note made out to Conor from his Mother. Half the notebook was filled with her words and the rest blank. He was suffering because she had gone, but he would never wonder if she had loved him. I thought of telling him it was obvious his Mother loved him very much but it sounded like another platitude.
    I couldn't empathise with what he was feeling, partly because I'd been unable to lament my father, a man I barely knew. I only had sparing memories of him and lived what was otherwise a fairly nice upbringing, alongside my brothers and our dog Mac.
    And so, I found myself ill-equipped how to help with such tragic loss. I held him as he talked and while I listened I looked around his room. I remembered something about there being five stages of grief but could only recall denial, anger and acceptance.
    On his desk I saw a photograph of Connor with a pretty, smiling woman I presumed was his Mother but the frame was badly damaged and held together with Sellotape. He seemed a lot closer to anger than acceptance at this point.
    I tried not to move as we sat with my arms awkwardly around his shoulders while he told me how he'd lost his Mother just over a year ago. I felt awful for him but I'd never been the most emotional person and I wasn't sure how to ease his obvious pain. I didn't want him to be angry at his Mother for leaving - it wasn't right. He needed to break through this stage so he could grieve properly and accept there was nothing that could have been done. I'd never seen him like this and it scared me. And so I did the only thing I could think of and began kissing away his tears. His breath was hot and ragged against my cheek and then I was kissing him on the mouth and wrapping my arms even tighter around him. I had no idea what I was doing but it seemed right in that moment. I wanted to make him feel better and this was the only thing I had to give.
    When I pulled back he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t begin to interpret. We sat in silence just staring at each other and listening to our rapid breathing and hearts beating inside our chests. When he looked in my eyes he seemed to be asking if I was sure, but neither of us spoke the words. I wanted him to lose himself in the moment.
    Pulling my top over my head probably left me with a hairstyle resembling a scarecrow, which together with my less than desirable white cotton underwear set didn’t entirely cast me in the role of femme fatale. But it didn’t seem to hinder him as he pulled my body against his while kissing me fiercely on the mouth.
    I would have been able to put it in perspective – if I’d had any, however, I had none. I’d had minimal kissing experience at this point but I'd started this so I was going to see it through for his sake.
    It wasn’t like any of the brief sex scenes I had seen in films or comparable to anything I had read about in the girl’s magazines that my mother would have considered too old for me to be reading and I kept