I'm going to post something that's not directly on topic, and is perhaps not that interesting in the grand scheme of things.

And it is going to ramble a bit. There is a summary at the end.

Shortly after 11am Pacific, 12 days ago, on his 74th birthday, my father walked into the backyard of his home of 42 years, sat in a lawn chair, and used a .357 magnum revolver to end his life.

He played virtually no role in raising me; at my parents request, his parents became my legal guardians when I was six years old, and prior to that, I spent most of my time at their house anyway.

His parents had only a single child, and my parents had only a single child.

I lived in my dad's house for five years in the 1980s while attending university, but working a full time job and taking 50% more classes than a full load meant I was almost never home and awake at the same time. Since then, except for some long pauses, we've communicated mostly via e-mail, with fewer than half a dozen phone calls.

His first wife, my mother, left him in the mid 1970s and he re-married a year later. His 2nd wife, Jane, had even less connection to me.

My grandparents were excellent guardians and parents, and I was nurtured and well cared for.

Jane died a few years ago after being married to my dad for 38 years after a prolonged and terrible fight with breast cancer. Nine years prior, she had forbidden him to communicate with me, and he had agreed, so I'd not heard from him in most of a decade.

He contacted me the day after she died via e-mail. Near the end of her life, she had given him the go ahead to resume communications with me after she died.

Born in the mid 1940s, my father would very likely be evaluated as being on the autistic spectrum as things are seen today. Just like his father and his son.

He had an easy charisma, but that was very shallow: he was functionally socially retarded. Besides the small number of women in his life, he had created almost no substantial social bonds.

When we did communicate, we got along quite well, but, in a fairly friendly but irresistible way, he almost sought to 'manage' the conversation, moving it in his own interests and directions. And there was always at least a mild to moderate negative/paranoid tone.

In general, even though the overall communications were cordial and friendly, I didn't really like to engage with him, because I felt a little worse about things after. Not a lot, but a bit.

Anyway, about a year after Jane's death, he met and started building a relationship with another woman, named Rosie. She is about 14 years younger than him. And their relationship blossomed, though with some troubling caveats.

She insisted he tell nobody about her or their relationship, and said she could not tell her family about it, for various seemingly, on the surface, plausible reasons. Of course he told me about it, since I was the only other person in the world he really talked to.

Though she didn't ask for it directly, last year he took most of the value out of his house and bought her a nice condo.

Moving ahead more briefly, she dumped him in February 2019. He was shattered, and rightly felt betrayed. He began to plan his exit at that time, eight months before his birthday.

He and I continued to exchange e-mails, perhaps one per week, and I had no hint or indication of his plans.

As was his style, every detail had been taken care of. He placed a 'packet' on the kitchen table: burial clothes, a note, a legal copies of various legal documents. That morning, he put a large package of all kinds of legal documentation, along with 15 pages of explanation and other important information in the mail, to be delivered to me the next day. He had enumerated where everything of value could be found in the house, which he had almost completely emptied. Included was detailed contact information: mortuary, lawyers, information on the reverse mortgage he had taken out, and detailed hand-written notes explaining all sorts of relevant details.

He setup a 'direct burial', next to Jane, in the Riverside National Cemetery, since he was a veteran. 'direct burial': no service, just straight from coroner to mortuary to the ground.

He and Jane took care of and loved many cats and a couple of dogs over the years, and that work brought them great joy. Rosie insisted that he get rid of all of his pets, and he did so.

The homicide detective I spoke to said that this was the most straightforward case she'd ever seen. His body cleared the Los Angeles County coroners office in a single day, which the mortuary had a hard time believing was possible.

He died as he lived: with meticulous planning and attention to detail.

Here he is, 69 or 70 years of age, a quick photo of his drivers license. Before this photo, the last time I had seen him was in 2004, before he started working out. This picture was striking because I'd never seen him have a 'thin' face.

http://www.realms.org/pics/robert-diederich-drivers-license-...

This event has been challenging for my wife, son and I but not shattering, since none of us had any kind of non-surface relationship with him.

But it has brought into focus a few things.

In summary: building and maintaining multiple personal connections is critically important. My father was in the fullness of health, even in his 70s, working out several hours every morning.

Fundamentally, why did he choose suicide? At this time, I'd say the most proximate cause was the terrible, untimely death of his wife. But that didn't need to be the end. He had never learned how to create and maintain healthy relationships. Why? That's hard to say with any certainty, but (probably) being on the autism spectrum likely played a part.

I'll end this ramble here: the one thing he repeated most often in our communications over the years was the importance of holding my wife and son very close. In truth, their presence has helped bring me through many difficult times over the decades.

Rest in peace, dad.

Robert W. Diederich

October 24th, 1945 - October 24th, 2019

Cheers,

-Dana

PS: Thank you for reading this.