I think about you often. Every day at least. We met once, at a party years ago, before I had any idea how your life would affect mine. I have a vague recollection of your physical appearance, but the sort of person you were remains a mystery.

I am hungry for facts. I try to be discreet, but I store up the information carelessly dropped into conversation by friends and relatives, like a miser counting gold. What were you like? I have a conflicting picture. Some say you were sociable and loved entertaining people, others that you found it hard to open up and were difficult to get to know.

When my husband and I first met, we talked about you. I was fascinated and wanted to know the exact sequence of events that led to your death. However, it was clear that our relationship was about the future and you were about the past, so we limited discussions to the picked clean skeleton of necessary information.

Once, when we were decorating the study, I came across your wedding album. I found the pictures profoundly shocking. My husband had always said the wedding was one of convenience: you needed a visa to stay in the country. But I've seen the look in your eyes in those photographs and there is no doubt that you were deeply in love.

You look at him with the kind of hope a girl has on her first date. This was no marriage of convenience, as far as you were concerned. You were head over heels in love. You felt the same way about him then as I do now.

What happened? What went wrong? How does mental illness begin? Does it start with feeling a bit depressed - the marriage foundering, problems at work - and gradually spiral into something scarier? Or does it just appear, like Churchill's black dog, creeping up behind you, snapping at your heels? The marriage was under strain, but is that what triggered the illness? Or was it the other way around?

The dynamics of your relationship with my husband absorb me. Could it be something in him, some as yet undiscovered cruel streak, which made you ill? Did you have too many children and too much responsibility? You gave birth five times and lost your first son when he was less than two weeks old. How does anyone come to terms with that? But all accounts say you did get over it, as much as one ever can. You went on to have three healthy boys and a daughter whom everyone says is very like you.

The depression that shadowed you had a name. Psychotic depression, they call it. The most serious kind, laced with delusions and paranoia. You were hospitalised here. You went home to your family, to your own country, where they gave you electric shock treatment.

What was it that led you to take a rope and hang yourself? What becomes the final straw? How does a mother decide to leave her children? I try to be a good step-mum to them, but I know I could do better. Sometimes they are overwhelming. Your absence makes them gang together for comfort, like puppies. They mistrust most adults, but especially women.

They hate change. Even a small variation in routine can cause panic. Once, in the early days, I bought a new frying pan and it caused a commotion. One of the boys got quite angry. They stick to the world they know and refuse to try anything new. Treats children usually look forward to - holidays or cinema trips - are treated with suspicion. They have learned that no is a very powerful word. They miss you.
Anonymous

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