It's hard to merge the loving image of my father with the person who died by suicide

This is a First Person column by Amanda Whalen, who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, see the FAQ.

WARNING: This story includes details about suicide.

It has been 10 years since my father unexpectedly took his life. I was 22 when it happened and in my final year of undergraduate studies at Western University. I struggled to cope and took four weeks off school. Later, I dropped a course, delayed my graduation and deferred acceptance to my master's program. His death unravelled my family and derailed my life. 

The trauma my family had to overcome often clouds the best memories of him. I picture him as two different people. One image is of my father who decided to selfishly leave our family; the other is of my father who had an incredibly positive influence in my life. 

If you or someone you know is struggling, here's where to get help:

• Talk Suicide Canada: 1-833-456-4566 (phone) | 45645 (text between 4 p.m. and midnight ET).
• Kids Help Phone: 1-800-668-6868 (phone), live chat counselling on the website.
• Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention: Find a 24-hour crisis centre.
• This guide from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health outlines how to talk about suicide with someone you're worried about.

Growing up, my father would go out of his way to come up with unique ways to make my brother and me happy. Some of my fondest memories revolve around my father's backyard creations. He installed a skating rink that took over the entire yard. We spent hours learning how to skate on this massive rink. 

During the summer, he saw how much my brother and I enjoyed playing badminton, so he shaved the grass down to resemble a badminton court. He even measured the space to adhere to official game regulations and painted the grass accordingly. This was a big hit at my sweet 16th birthday party. No other kids had a game-ready court in their backyard. 

Being an elementary school teacher meant that my father was off during the summer months. That's when most of these ideas and creations came to life. 

During the school year, he was a passionate and devoted educator, described by his students as strict but fair. Intimidating but funny. 

He spent hours coaching the boy's volleyball team and mentoring the chess team. When colleagues retired, he would write customized poems and have them framed as a farewell present. 

At the beginning of each school year, it was a tradition for me to join my father in preparing his classroom. He would appoint me creative director and I would help design his welcome back posters. I felt special accompanying my father to the empty school and having the privilege to create his classroom art. It makes me sentimental to remember how he trusted me and made me feel like his sidekick.

It's hard to merge the loving image of my father with the person who died by suicide. 

At his funeral, students approached my family and shared stories of how he shaped their lives. The school conducted a memorial service and built a monument dedicated to him. To this day, I have not been able to return to his school to see it. 

I don't want to relive the pain

Around the same time, a good friend's father died of cancer. Her father endured strenuous treatments for years, determined to extend his life in the effort to spend more time with loved ones. 

In comparison, my father made the decision to end his life, leaving behind his family, friends and community. At the time, I was envious that she was able to inform others that her father died from terminal cancer whereas I felt the stigma of my father's actions. 

Today, when I do open up to people and share that my father took his life, reactions vary. I can tell that people want to probe to extract further details, such as how did he do it? Did I know it was coming? Were there any signs? Was he suffering with mental illness for a long time? I have to mentally brace myself for these types of questions when sharing this part of my life. I know that if I divulge too much too quickly with people, I will become overwhelmed with emotion. 

My default is to not share about this period of my life. I don't want to relive the pain of losing him by suicide. It works as a tactic, but only to a point. When people ask about my father, I tend to sheepishly reply that he passed away and avoid revealing further details. 

To this day, we still don't know about the state of my father's mental health. I've come to realize that a mental disorder affects our moods, thinking and behaviour, just like cancer is an illness that affects our bodies. When left untreated, it can deteriorate a person's quality of life and have devastating effects.  

My emotions teeter between happiness and sadness. I continue to have vivid dreams at night in which he's still alive. A recurring scene involves me pleading with him to not end his life. I wake feeling sick and emotionally depleted. These dreams haunt me. 

Reflecting on his death, I see how it has held me back in some ways. I tend to be guarded around new people, only telling them little bits about my family life. I am easily triggered by any mention of suicide or mental health. 

Despite all this, my father's teachings continue. I have learned how important it is to cherish your family and time spent together. I understand how fragile life is and I do not take it for granted. I have come to realize that, as Dale Carnegie wrote, "every day is a new life to a wise man," which I believe means there is an opportunity to heal day by day. 

I've come to accept that my perspective of my father's death will continue to evolve over the course of my life. I will need to remain open to these emotions and learn new ways to move forward.

If you or someone you know is struggling, here's where to get help:

• Talk Suicide Canada: 1-833-456-4566 (phone) | 45645 (text between 4 p.m. and midnight ET).
• Kids Help Phone: 1-800-668-6868 (phone), live chat counselling on the website.
• Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention: Find a 24-hour crisis centre.
• This guide from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health outlines how to talk about suicide with someone you're worried about.

If you're worried someone you know may be at risk of suicide, you should talk to them about it, says the Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention. Here are some warning signs: 

• Suicidal thoughts.
• Substance abuse.
• Purposelessness.
• Anxiety.
• Feeling trapped.
• Hopelessness and helplessness.
• Withdrawal.
• Anger.
• Recklessness.
• Mood changes.

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