![]() Then he went into his study, closed his door, and shot himself.” For the next 330-plus pages, Wickersham unflinchingly chronicles her fractious struggle to come to grips with the events of that morning 17 years ago, and how this single act forces her to re-examine not only her father’s entire life but her own relationships with her parents, her husband, her children and even total strangers. He left the paper folded on the kitchen table, poured a cup of coffee, carried it upstairs, and put it on my mother’s bedside table. He went downstairs and made a pot of coffee, and while it was brewing he went outside and walked down the long driveway to pick up the newspaper. “He got up, showered, shaved and dressed for work. “This is what my father did,” writes Joan Wickersham early in her memoir The Suicide Index: Putting My Father’s Death in Order. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |