My father attempted suicide when he was eighty. When the neighbor called to tell me I first thought he had an accident and was on his way to the hospital. Then she told me he was in the back yard and had wrapped a child's swing around his neck.............it didn't sink in instantly, but I said "are you telling me he tried to hang himself?" And there was a pause and then she said, "I'm sorry, yes". I was numb when I headed to the hospital, when I saw him he had an angry red abrasion around his throat and he looked so tired. All I said was "Daddy, what happened? " and he started to cry. I hadn't called him daddy since I was a very little girl. It broke my heart that he had been so anguished and I didn't realize how much he ached. He didn't manage to kill himself that day, and when he told me why he did it, to me it was so overwhelmingly sad.
I suppose I was lucky because he wasn't successful and the problem he thought was insurmountable was fixable. I'm glad he wasn't successful, but just the anguish involved knowing he could have ended his life was more disturbing than I can describe. Sadly, not everyone ends their life to avoid an excruciatingly painful untreatable illness, many end their lives because they are overwhelmed by sadness and can't see a way out.
I'm not taking a stance on suicide, I'm not in a position to judge other's pain, I'm just relieved my dad wasn't successful.