What happens when a dad commits suicide

Mitch closed his eyes and allowed the flood gates to open. It had been a cool harmattan day, at least by Eastern Nigeria standards. He was seven years old. His mother had picked him up from school. His Primary Two class had just finished the final performance of Scrooge–and his dad hadn’t made it. Mitch, disheartened, had played Marley, the ghost who visited Scrooge in chains. He’d desperately wanted his father there–to feel his approval, to sense that he cared. When the garage door didn’t open, his mother had parked on the driveway. The two of them stepped onto the front porch. Mitch, the corners of his mouth turned down, waited as his mother unlocked the fine, carved wooden door leading to the hallway of the 6,000-square-foot custom-built home. She suggested he call his dad using the two-way radio in her husband’s office. Mad at him for not having shown up, Mitch refused. After all, his dad had promised. His mother had paused in the kitchen to read a note from his father, while Mitch plodded on through the house to the garage to see if he could open the door, his young mechanical curiosity getting the better of him. His dad’s pickup truck was parked in its usual spot, and after turning on the light, the boy noticed his father slumped over the wheel, seemingly asleep. Mitch promptly trudged down the steps to give his dad “what for.” His mother had come to the doorway and screamed the same moment Mitch opened the truck’s door. Mitch drew a deep breath before he opened his eyes. The putrid smell filling his nostrils was almost as thick as it had been 16 years earlier. He leaned forward and brushed the stinging tears from his face, once again slamming the memories behind the battered door of his mind.