Sometimes we say that so and so is a good man, not that the man is perfect, but because the man is predisposed well. That the man has some nobility in him. And this dead man may be such a person.
The suicide note is a clue to what might have happened, and I see the classic motif of a tragedy as Aristotle elucidated it. A high minded man making a fatal mistake only to have his eyes opened in the last minute. Everything comes crushing down and only a 'deus ex machina' can save the day. But somehow it doesn't come. And only death is desired.
The anguish is too great, and the light blinds. I can feel and see what such a situation would mean. Killing even your wife, and beautiful and handsome children is possible. And one can do that with unbelievable resolve.
This man has my deepest empathy, and sympathy. I admire him. But I also weep for him. And for my self. I weep at this cosmic and eternal pattern of the living and the dead.
Oh! The plight of those that seek the stony path! Oh! The lure of charlatans! The exertion of time and effort! All this across a life's script.
It's like standing before a mirror, and seeing my self.