My father took his own life in his parents house, which was far from where we were and also where he was going to be buried. My mom drove us up to said city for everything and my dad's parents housed us. Those brilliant minds thought it wise to place my brother and me in the room where my Dad took his life. How would i know, you might be wondering? We were being kids, wrestling around, knocked the bed/mattress which shifted from the wall and our heads were inches away from blood stains. Those people hid the stains with a bed. Awesome. I was scared of everything after that, thinking i would die, up until about Senior year in highschool, then i went to the opposite extreme. Now, after a few years of therapy and self-growth, i am content with who i have become.