My father was 62, the proprietor of a poorly performing small business who had got himself into a financial mess, and lived in an isolated farmhouse. He ticked all the boxes for a likely suicide. I only know this because he pulled his Jeep into a field near the home he shared with my mother last August and shot himself.

Men aged 45 and over are more than twice as likely to commit suicide as women in the same age range. To my knowledge, two of my father's friends committed suicide in similar circumstances. One of the first things people said to me after my father killed himself was: “Were there any signs beforehand?” My first response was: “Absolutely none.” But in the sickening mental games that your brain indulges in after a suicide, I imagine that there were and that I should have identified them and, of course, rescued him.

The despair on his face when the water pipe began leaking again after he'd spent hours repairing it, his constant tiredness, his sudden flashes of temper followed by gloom, and his savage declaration muttered to me at his 60th birthday party: “I don't want to get old! I'll be a useless old git getting in everyone's way”, seem like unmissable clues now. I remember my mother saying a few months before he died: “He is so much more emotional these days; it must be getting older. He has started crying when he watches the news.”

My partner once described Dad as the one person he would want to be with if the end of the world was imminent - he would know what to do. This ability to intervene and change a situation by practical means was how he defined his masculinity. “Bit of an old woman” was a criticism he levelled at any men he knew whom he judged as fussy, impractical or emotional.

He was confounded by new technology

Looking back, I can see how his personality seemed to erode in his last year. He was a quiet man and yet he had always loved to entertain, and his amazing memory meant that his general knowledge was fantastic. At a family wedding my grandmother asked him if he could remember the lines she'd forgotten of a poem, and his immediate and impatient “Oh God, I don't know”, combined with a dismissive shake of the head, startled me. My mother relied on him to do anything practical or technical; he ran a little garage and was a bit of a repair wizard. For the first time he was not able to work out how to set a timer, and said to my mother flatly: “No; I can't do it. It's just too difficult.”

He found himself confounded by new technology. The internet fascinated him, but was using an aged computer that did not make things easy for him. He loathed telephone queueing systems because sometimes he was not fast enough to press the correct option. But more importantly he saw his role being replaced by technology. “No one even asks me for directions any more,” he said. “They've all got sat nav.”

In tribal hierarchy, my father should have been an esteemed elder, dispensing wisdom, making the important decisions, not sighing over the old days, worrying about the news and carrying around three pairs of glasses.

Limitless leisure time frightened him

Women are constantly being told about the importance of having varied interests, of nurturing oneself, and making sure that once the roles of primary care-giver and professional have been given up there is something else. Men seem to be abandoned once they have passed a “useful” age. When my mother talked about retirement with him he would always insist that he would “just pop in to the garage a couple of times a week to help out”. I think the void of limitless leisure frightened him. On the day of his suicide my mother said: “He just didn't want to get old, did he?”

As the classic good girl who worked hard at school and did all the right things, I feel that everything I did to make my life satisfying resulted in my becoming a woman who did not need a father figure. Part of me enjoyed the role reversal of being able to tell him about the internet and innovation, but when I look back I feel guilt, as if I had usurped him.

This guilt doubles me up and I cannot bear it, so I convert it to anger as fast as I can. What else could I have done? Surely I did not need to feign incompetence or unworldliness to allow him to keep his role?

He gradually shuffled out of our lives, becoming more remote and more distant. Part of me wishes that I had known how to make him centre-stage again and part of me is infuriated that after a lifetime in the lead, he saw himself as being relegated to a bit part in the final act.

SUICIDE: THE FACTS

Being male and growing old are two significant risk factors for committing suicide. In the early 1990s, the highest suicide rates in Britain were among men aged 75 and over. The optimistic news is that the trend among this group is downwards, though there is a slight rise among men aged 45 to 74.

Occupation is another significant risk factor for men: farmers, doctors and vets have particularly high suicide rates - not least because they have ready access to the means for bringing about their own deaths.

The typical warning signs of a man who is feeling suicidal include an unusual increase in irritability or nervousness and an uncharacteristic propensity for crying openly. The latter is often a sign of severe depression and is taken seriously by health professionals. Other causes for concern may be unexpected changes in routine, such as eating or sleeping more or less, untypical clumsiness, neglecting their appearance and reducing contact with friends or family.

Another worrying sign is if a previously robust man starts to make leading statements about himself such as “the whole world is against me” or self-critical comments, in either a serious or mocking manner, such as “I'm a waste of space.”

However, as men are more reluctant to talk to friends, family or health professionals about their emotional health, some men can display no danger signs at all, cautions Mind, the mental health charity.

If you are worried that someone close to you might be contemplating suicide, don't be afraid to ask them how they are. Encouraging them to talk, and listening, will show them that someone cares.

Samaritans offers advice to people concerned about friends and relatives: 08457 909090; www.samaritans.org

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