Ok. I did n't really want to talk about this here, but still.
My mother took her own life when I was nineteen. There was only her and me at home, no father, no siblings. I was, of course, completely overwhelmed with grief. I loved her so much, and I know she loved me. I cried on and off for years. I never thought to blame her. It has only been in the last two or three years, in my seventies, that it has occurred to me that perhaps it was, in part, a selfish thing to have done. I would never have thought so at the time. Then, there was just the dreadful, incredible, finality of death.
That doesn't lessen the love of her, or the gratitude for the lovely childhood she, and my grandmother, gave me. She was the best mother anyone could have wished for.
I am sorry if my previous post seemed unkind, and upset any other posters.