After my father committed suicide by blowing his brains out thirteen years ago my family fell apart.
He wasn't a saint certainly but he was adept at maintaining stability in our household.
Financially, it caused a multitude of problems. He owned his own construction company and essentially paid my mother a rather large "allowance" throughout the year when he was alive.
After his death my mother sold anything we had that had any value. We started receiving Survivor's Benefits. She tried hard to keep us in the fancy house and the good neighborhood but that was never realistic because she was not capable of being responsible with finances.
We moved into a shitty house. My mother became very depressed and had a phase where she got into religion and I remember watching her write for hours. She became addicted to soda. It really impacted her teeth. She lost her driver’s license after multiple suspensions. She became the "Bike Lady" known for riding her bike everywhere.
I point these things out because none of them were characteristic of her in the past.
My mother did the best she could. She certainly wasn't made to take over the role of both parents. I went from the kid who had "toy day" every Friday. To coming home and not to knowing if the electricity would be on or if we'd have food. It was certainly jarring.
The worst of it was the emotional loss. The pain and the confusion had a fall-out that lasted years for me. My father was my hero before he committed suicide. He was the person who was supposed to guide me into manhood.
For me the denial stage didn't last very long. It was maybe a month. The isolation side to it did in fact stick around. Before the suicide I was a very extroverted person afterwards I became very introverted and selective with whom I opened up to.
The anger stage followed me from his death all the way through the end of high school. So for essentially a decade I was an angry asshole waiting to explode because I still resented my father for his mistakes and for his decision to abandon his family.
The bargaining stage was relatively fast like the denial. The depression hung around over my head with the anger and the isolation. People knew I was a ticking time bomb. They saw that I was insecure and hurt over something, they had no idea what. I had severe abandonment and trust issues.
I was fucked up, and it was easier to be fucked up because I had a cop out "I'm fucked up because my father committed suicide." I wouldn't go around telling people that was why of course. I was ashamed my father committed suicide. That's all it was though... a mental excuse. Deep down I knew life wasn't meant to be fair. We all have trials and struggles. I thought mine was greater than everyone else's because it happened when I was young but that just isn't true.
As a child there is a lot you don't know about your parents. You don't see them as their own person outside of their relation to you as your parent. You don't see the things they struggle with. I had no idea my father was suffering from depression. Sure, I'll never get the closure on exactly why he did it. Honestly, that's not important to me anymore. He was sick, he was suffering and he made a decision. The details aren't mine to know.
I still get depressed occasionally of course but suicide is not an option for me. I refuse to abandon the people I love. I hope to be a great father someday. I don't resent my father for what he did anymore but I am not my father.
TL;DR The most important thing I took away from my father's suicide is you always have a choice. I will never "get over" what he did. However, I do have a choice to be proactive and create a life I love or have a pity party because I was dealt a shit hand when I was young. Life goes on, what's important is what you do with what comes at you.