Two halves of a whole

I'm not sure why, but the tragedy of Mark Speight's death has really hit me hard. Maybe it's because it says something about how although your family and friends can be there for you, and you can be in therapy, sometimes things happen that are just so awful you can't deal with life any longer.
I cannot imagine what was going through his mind every day, just as I shudder to think of the sick horror he felt when discovering his fiancee's lifeless body in their bathroom. When I read in the Mail that he had gone missing, I really dreaded the final outcome. But if someone ever needs a good reason to commit suicide, I guess the guilt he felt, along with the searing loss of his lover, would be as good as any. I just REALLY hate the idea of how bloody awful he must have been feeling in the last few weeks. Although I often feel bad, I haven't been hit by tragedy yet (wood being touched) and I am a little bit scared of how Bad bad must feel.