'6 weeks after a cancer diagnosis, my mum died. Then my dad disappeared.'

Content warning: this article discusses suicide. 

One year ago, Nina's* mother was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme, an aggressive, inoperable brain cancer. Just six, short weeks later, she passed away. 

Less than a year after losing her mother, Nina's father disappeared. A note would reveal he’d taken his own life. Three months later, his body has still not been recovered.

"I always thought it would be a worst-case scenario for my parents if something happened to mum first," says Nina. 

In the last five years of his life, Nina's father experienced a range of mental health challenges, and relied heavily on his wife for support. 

Her death sent him into a tailspin. 

"She moved straight from diagnosis into palliative care. It was a very quick descent from there to death," Nina says.

"It was an extremely confronting and emotional period of my life in that there was no time to wrap my head around what was going on.

"The palliative care she was provided was incredible, so it did offer me some comfort knowing that her final weeks were comfortable. 

"But that whole time I had this tension around the impact that this was having on my dad. He just didn't want to let go."

Nina says her dad held himself together mentally while his wife was unwell, but after she passed away, his mental health declined rapidly. 

"We have no choice but to keep moving. That was kind of my mantra to my dad, because I just didn't see any other way through."

With her father living an hour away, and having three children to take care of, Nina felt pulled in every direction. 

"It was a constant nightmare of trying to keep him well. There'd be times I would have to just dash down to his house or I’d be ringing repeatedly trying to get him on the phone because, there were concerns for his welfare."

With all of stress of caring for her father, Nina had no time to grief for her mother — a process, she says, she still hasn’t gone through. 

"I just couldn't allow myself to fall into a hole. I moved from rage at him—inward rage mostly, although sometimes it probably did come out—to absolute sorrow for him because I get that mental health is not a choice."

Ironically, Nina believes her own mental strength was instilled in her by her father, who provided "the most incredible childhood". 

"My dad was a giver in life, would do anything to help anyone. Yet his latter years he was kind of relegated to this shell where he had no joy in life.

"I feel that my parents collectively created the platform for me to be able to create my own family and feel like we're doing okay."

The final years of Nina's mother’s life were tough, she says, dedicated her life to caring for her husband. 

"This was not his choice, I know that. But it impacted both his and her quality of life equally, but in different ways. She was a prisoner as well to what was going on for him."

Every day after her mother’s death, Nina would hold her breath, hoping her father would be ok. At the same time, she was trying to lessen the impact on her husband and children. 

Six weeks after her mother’s death, her father disappeared. 

The moment she received the text message from her father’s neighbour, Nina knew something was wrong. 

"The message said, 'Look, I don't want to be nosy, but your dad's car didn't come home overnight'. And I immediately knew we were dealing with something significant."

After frantically calling her dad but unable to reach him, she arranged for a welfare check. His car wasn’t at his home, and was later found parked near the beach. The keys were in the footwell of the car. 

He hasn’t been seen since. 

For 10 days, police searched for her father, but his body wasn’t located. Deep inside, Nina knew what had happened. Then she found the note. 

As well as accepting both her parents' sudden deaths, Nina was grappling with the difficult challenge of explaining it all to her teenage children. 

"This is a lot for a teenager to have to grapple with, where not only has a grandparent suicided, but we don't have a body.

"The imagery that can kind of sit around how this may have happened is pretty intense. I know at times I have to work hard not to let the ‘what ifs’ of where he is, particularly in those early days of how he may have done it."

Mixed emotions. 

At times, Nina would feel anger towards her father. "Do you have any idea what you've done to my family?" she'd think. 

But then, she would remember what a good man he was.  

"He was everything I could wish for in a father. I guess it just shows you the power of mental health and how he could not see any way forward."

Without a body, Nina and her family had a decision to make—continue to search for her father as a missing person, or submit a report to the coroner. They chose the latter. 

"We know that we're not dealing with a long term missing person. So, they're currently preparing a file, which will go to the coroner to determine whether or not he will issue a death certificate without a body."

That means, Nina's family may have to wait another year before they can wrap up their father’s estate. 

In the meantime, Nina hopes to flip the narrative on her father’s life, back to the man she remembers, through an upcoming celebration of life. 

The sandwich generation. 

With women having children at an older age, many are left trying to care for teenagers or young children, while also caring for parents, and managing the grief that goes along with it. 

"There's not an answer as far as how people can manage this sandwich that they're in," says Nina. 

"I think mental health is more prevalent now than ever more, and just throwing this scenario into the mix, I think just creates a whole other challenge to face."

Nina says the pressure of the "sandwich generation" is stronger than ever before, and that the only way to even begin to manage such a complex stage of life, is self-care and leaning on those around you and other external services.

While Nina considers herself a resilient person, she regularly visits a psychologist to offload her thoughts. 

"It just provides an avenue to be able to have someone who isn't emotionally involved in the situation to offload to. 

"There are moments still where I'm just enraged and then other moments where I'm completely devastated. But then other moments where I just block everything out. I still have not opened the condolence cards I was sent from when my mum died."

Nina says she did everything she could to support both her children and her father, while keeping herself physically and mentally healthy, but ultimately, the situation took a toll. 

"I don't know what the answer is. There isn't one, which I think is just a really confronting thought."

Moving forward. 

While Nina is trying to keep the memories of her parents alive for her children, she also feels trapped in time, unable to properly grieve.

"They should have been enjoying their grandchildren. I still avert my gaze from any photo that I see that has my parents in it. I still cannot open any cards.

"There’s this added layer where you can’t finalise things from a practical perspective either, which, I think, that process is part of a growth cycle.

"I recognise that we can’t do that at this point, but there are some things we can do. I just want my parents to be remembered for the amazing people they were."

If you think you may be experiencing depression or another mental health problem, please contact your GP or health professional. If you're based in Australia, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14, beyondblue on 1300 22 4636 or the Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467. In an emergency call 000.

*This person is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous. 

Feature image: Getty