Writing about grief, hope, music, memory and community.
Many of us have stood at a death notice and read phrases like 'passed away suddenly' or 'left us unexpectedly' — words chosen to avoid the actual word, to protect the family from glances, comments, whispers.
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It can start without you first understanding why. A week, perhaps a few weeks, when everything feels heavier again. Sleep gets worse. You're tearful, irritable, anxious without being able to put your finger on why.
When a sibling dies by suicide, something happens that few people talk about: you become bereaved and invisible at the same time. The flowers, the conversations and the care are often directed at the parents, or at a partner. And you stand there beside them.
Almost everyone who loses someone to suicide carries guilt. The thoughts grind: what if I'd called that evening. What if I'd seen the signs. What if I'd said something different.
Perhaps you're reading this in the middle of the night. Perhaps it has been a few days, perhaps a few weeks, since everything changed — and you're sitting with your phone trying to understand what is happening inside you.
One of the most common questions we encounter, whether it has been a week or ten years, is the simplest and at the same time the hardest: where do I turn? Grief after suicide rarely comes with a clear map.
You shared a bed, a daily life and plans for the future with someone. And then, from one day to the next, that person is gone — and you are left in the middle of a life you built together, alone.
If you're reading this now, right after, there is only one thing we want you to take in first: you don't need to manage any of the practical things today. The brain is in shock, the body is in shock.
There are no words in any language that are big enough for what you are carrying. We know this, because we carry it too. This piece is for parents who have lost a child to suicide.