I lost my father to suicide

A few years back I lost my father to suicide. He was 62 years old. Not the age you expect your male role model to take their own life. As with all suicide, it was extremely complicated and my family was left with many unanswered questions. His death sent me into a tailspin. I was angry. Confused. Grieving. My worldview shattered. More anger. But it was the regret that was the most difficult thing for me to deal with. Sinking, festering regret. Most of you here know what I’m talking about. Wishing you would have answered a phone call. Wishing you would have said all the things you felt, but never uttered aloud. Wishing you would have had any clue that the person you loved was in so much pain.

What happened years after his death, while I was still trying to cope with his loss, is that I decided to direct a short film about regret specifically. Now, I’m not here to pander for attention for the film. Please do not take this as that. The film has done the film festival circuit and all that already. It was a great experience, but short film is more or less an exercise. And this one is over. For me, though, the film was also a small amount of closure. Since I completed the project, I was left with this story of regret and I’ve tried to think what I could do with it.

I decided I would put it on Youtube and look around the internet for forums like these to share. I know many of you are having a hard time with regret, and the process of moving on — most specifically allowing yourself to move on. That was why I made this small, little film.

And it is important for me to say that as a person now very sensitive to suicide, the film has NOTHING to do with suicide. If you have suffered such a loss, this film is not here to trigger you.

So, I’m going leave it here.



If it helps even one person here take that first step out of regret, then I'll be a very happy man. I know for me, it was very, very hard to put one foot after the other and walk my way out of regret. To be clear, I still have regrets, I will always have them, but I have moved on. And that, sometimes, is the best we can hope for when tragedy strikes.

Sincerely,

Curtis