Committing to Better Use of Language - DAY 23

The language we use when we are talking about suicide matters. In some situations, subtle differences in language come down to more than just semantics. Often, language is the initial framework we use in order to categorize or interpret actions. In fact, this framework is one of the objectives of language itself.

Because suicide is so stigmatized, we often have trouble talking about it. Understanding the subtleties of the language we use or even knowing what to say, can be confusing. That being said - I will speak for many of us whose lives who have been touched by suicide:

Please stop saying 'committed suicide'.

I could go on and on about this. I could beg people to be more considerate, more thoughtful, more understanding, or to just educate themselves about the causes of suicide. Today though, I am not going to beg. Besides, all of those things are blog posts of their own. For the sake of this one, I will try to simplify.

Consider this: for survivors of suicide loss and for survivors of suicide attempts - the connotation (the definition itself) of the word 'committed' only serves to increase stigma and exacerbate pain:

com·mit

/kəˈmit/

Learn to pronounce

verb

past tense: committed; past participle: committed

1. 1.

   carry out or perpetrate (a mistake, crime, or immoral act).

   
   

   "he committed an uncharacteristic error"

For most of us whose lives have been touched by suicide, hearing the term 'committed suicide' is hurtful.

I don't want to beg you to understand that we are in enough pain already. My hope is that our pain alone is enough to help you to reconsider the terminology you are using.

While I recognize this isn't always the case, the vast majority of those who have died by suicide had been dealing with mental illness. Therefore, the suicidality was a symptom of their illness. Because of this, it is inaccurate and somewhat cruel to use language that squarely places the blame for their death on an immoral act they were responsible for.

For those who are not dealing with mental health issues, we are often unable to comprehend the depth of pain that it can cause. And mental illness can also contribute to all of these things as well: a decrease in pain tolerance; an inability to understand long term consequences; and, a lack of impulse control. Put all those things together, and without adequate treatment mental illness becomes potentially fatal.

Please consider that mental illness is also about things that we, as a culture (and even scientifically) are only just beginning to understand. The impact of trauma, the subtle balance of chemical activity in the brain, the delicate nature of neural pathways and the impact on a person when those neural pathways are disturbed or broken. These things are the causes of potentially fatal mental illness. While we don't fully understand all of these causes (yet) - what we can say is that none of those things are the fault of the person who is suffering.

As a person who endures mental illness, let me put this even more clearly:

I did not choose to be ill. I do not want to be ill. Often, this illness hurts. Often, this illness breaks my own heart. Often, I am fearful that I will lose my own life to this illness. 

My life is spent constantly trying to address and manage the symptoms of my illness. Some days are better than others. But never, am I 'committing' my mental illness on you.

Sadly, oftentimes the thoughts that complicate my own suicidality are directly related to the language our culture uses. Specifically, if I was worthy of life, I would stop committing the crime of suffering from mental illness.

Mental illness is not the fault of the person who is suffering.  Please, see it for what it is and change your language accordingly.

We do not say 'he committed cancer.'
We do not say 'she committed heart disease'
We do not say 'he committed alzheimers'

Please stop saying that those who lost their lives to the symptoms of mental illness 'committed' suicide.

Please. Stop.

Here is language that is more appropriate:

They died by suicide.
They lost their life to suicide. 
Suicide was the cause of their death.

Or, to be even more accurate you could say: "They were mentally ill, and their illness was fatal."

Please stop indicting me and my loved ones and all of us who struggle with mental illness. Please stop criminalizing those of us who are struggling still, and those who have already lost their lives.

I don't want to beg you.

But I am begging you.

Please stop using the terminology: 'committed' suicide.

They Are Proud of Us

Cherisse Boam lives in Utah. She is twice widowed. She lost her husband Justin in a car accident several years ago. Later, she remarried. In a doubly tragic turn of events, her second husband, Harrison, also died, this time by suicide.

Recently, a well meaning friend suggested to Cherisse that she should 'move on' from her most recent loss, and that her husband Harrison would want her to be doing that.

Here, Cherisse writes about her response to that suggestion. She writes about the experience of being a widow and especially, being a widow to suicide. Cherisse puts into perfect words what much of the frustration, agony, and pain feels like for those of us who have lost a spouse or partner to suicide. Having lost one husband and then remarrying, she also talks about the difference between moving 'on' and moving 'forward.' 

Cherisse's writing is raw, honest, and courageous. She speaks for so many of us who have lost the person we loved to suicide. I am honored that she is letting me share her writing, here:

After Justin died, I had friends who reached out to me in support. One of them called me to tell me he was thinking about me. He then confided that another friend had lost his wife. But he also said he couldn't understand why his other widowed friend started using drugs and giving in to lust (so soon after his wife had died).

I told him what I'm telling you now: The pain of losing a spouse is unlike any pain you've ever felt. It is deep, constant, and all consuming. You do ANYTHING you can think of to end the pain for even just a second. If you can avoid feeling or thinking or being in this deep agony, you will do it. I don't drink, and I don't have sex outside of marriage, and these things are because of my covenants within the church. I also hold the belief that if I did these things, when the underlying pain came back - it would be more intense playing 'catch up' after those moments of numbness. But sometimes, I have to be honest with you, if it weren't for the church, I'd take the numbness anyway. Not necessarily the lust, but absolutely the alcohol.

Widow's brain and widow's fog are real. You can't move and you can't do things most days. Grief isn't linear, it's not depression and then anger and then denial. It's anger and then depression and then anger again, Sometimes it's all at once. In addition to the pain, which mental, emotional, spiritual, physical, it also affects every part of your being and soul. It leaves no stone unturned, until you are annihilated completely and thoroughly.

Losing Justin didn't make the pain of losing Harrison less. In fact, losing Harrison hurt worse, and in a different way. I've been told that the method of death makes a difference, and I absolutely believe it. Suicide adds layers that weren't there with the car accident. I still found ways to blame myself after Justin died. "If we had just moved to the other side of the canyon like he'd wanted..." but fortunately his mother, my Mama, was very clear with me and shut down those thoughts, fast.

It's harder to shut down the voices with suicide, because people think it was a choice, so it has to be someone's fault, right? And it couldn't have been his.

Years ago, my Aunt Rhonda was widowed, and afterward I thought she'd lost her mind. She'd say she could hear and feel my uncle. I felt, at the time, deep pity for her. I'm here to tell you she wasn't crazy. Losing someone you've shared yourself with, body and soul, so intimately, makes their passing through the veil not so distant. You CAN still hear and feel them. They do visit you in your dreams. My belief in an afterlife is absolute.

The widow's fog means you sit for hours in agony, trying to remember just how to breathe, trapped in your thoughts and trying not to think. Your life becomes about survival. You can't get up to clean. You can't get up to cook. I cherish the words that a friend said to me on one long drive. I told her I hated when people said I was strong when I went back to work. First of all, it wasn't what I wanted to be doing. I wanted to be in bed constantly. (There were still times I did this. I called into work more than once to stay in bed because I physically couldn't get out of the pain enough to get up.) Second of all, part of why I went to work was I was hoping for a distraction from the pain for even a few seconds (remember that thing we were talking about earlier) and it didn't help. Third of all, I still had children to support. My friend said to me: 

"Sometimes we have to choose between the impossible," (getting up and moving) "and the unthinkable," (letting my children starve). "We can't do the unthinkable, so we choose to do the impossible." 

And that is what I did.

How long does the point of immobility last? It's different for every widow. Months. Years. The levels and intensities and lengths of time for each depth of pain varies by widow, by how well they move through their grief (or let their grief move through them), by the love they hold for their spouse, the fights or joys in their marriage, whether their spouse died slowly or if it was sudden.

Widows sometimes start with "We were married for x amount of years" as though that makes a difference in how much pain they are going through. Having gone through this twice, first with Justin, whom I was with for six years, and next with Harrison, who I was with for under two, it doesn't matter. The length of time you were married to someone doesn't matter. The depth of emotion you hold for them does.

How long does grief last? When should a widow move on? 

When should they remarry?

You NEVER get over the grief because you'd be getting over your precious, irreplaceable loved one. A widow will never move on, though they will be able to function again at some point, and maybe move 'forward' with or without a new chapter (relationship) in their life. They will take with them the old chapter as well. Harrison never asked nor expected me to get over Justin. In our marriage with each other (which is sacred) we honored our feelings, the kids' feelings, and we honored Justin. We still set a place for him at the table. When should a widow remarry? When is too soon? Pay attention, because this isn't well known. Whenever the hell they're good and ready, and not one second sooner or later. Only they know where they are in their grief. You don't. You understand me?

Finally, don't tell me what my husband would have or does want for me. This is me saying this in the absolute strictest, most angry way, NO ONE has the right to tell ANY widow how her spouse would feel. Let me tell you that our spouses, who have a beyond the grave connection with us still, who communicate with us even after their deaths, know us better inside and out, than anyone else. They know our agony, they know what we're doing and why we're doing it, they know we're trying to survive. and WE KNOW THEM. 

I remember feeling disconnected because what people told me Harrison would be feeling was different from the way I thought he'd felt. Eventually I found letters he's written and I realized I'd been the one who was right. 

Our spouses are damn proud of us for doing what we have to do to survive. 

They are proud of us for living. They are proud of us for taking care of things here.

You, an outsider to our marriage, to this grief, have no right to tell any widow that her spouse is or would be disappointed in us. They wouldn't be.

They are proud of us.

Cherisse Boam with her husband Harrison.

The Gifts of The Season

Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them. 
― Mitch Albom

For many, the holidays represent a time of cheer and togetherness. Holiday songs and stories remind us to rejoice and be merry. In the media, family celebrations are depicted with joy. But for anyone who has experienced a loss during the prior year, these normally happy aspects of the holiday can be complicated and sad. And for survivors of suicide loss, the holidays can be particularly painful. We who are left behind, need our friends and family. We need support. But when we see you at events that are normally joyous occasions, we want you to understand our unique feelings.

Regardless of the amount of time that has gone by since we lost our loved one, during the holiday season our grief is often fresh once again. For those of us who've lost someone during the past year, this is the first season we are experiencing without that person. Remembering holidays past can be emotional. Whether it has been days, months, or even years - please do not expect us to be 'over' our loss. Pressure to move on from our grief is not what heals us, in fact, it usually makes the pain worse.

There are ways that you can help support us during this season, though. These are the things that are most important.

Please do extend invitations.

We do want to be invited and included in events and celebrations. Being left out hurts. As one survivor put it, bluntly, 'our loved one died, not us.' 

At the same time, please allow us to determine which events we feel able to attend, and which ones are too overwhelming. We might feel ready to attend a party when we RSVP, but no longer feel up to it the day of the event. Please be understanding if we change our minds.

Emma Mulqueeny lives in England. She lost her nephew to suicide this past year, and she explains why she still wants to be invited to holiday events even though she may not be up to attending.

"I have become selfish with my time so that I can be with everyone I need to be with. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want things to be normal again one day. In a new way."

Please remember that something heartbreaking has happened to us, but we are still here.

Some survivors are frustrated when they hear from family members during the holidays, who they haven't heard from at all since the loss of their loved one. 

"If they can't contact me the rest of the year, they shouldn't be reaching out now," says one survivor. 

If you are hoping to bridge a similar gap, try saying 'I'm sorry I haven't called you before now, I wasn't sure what to say, but I want you to know that I care.'

Michele Statile lives in New Jersey, and she lost her husband to suicide a decade ago. However, she says that it is still important to her that people not define her by her loss.

"I would like them to know I am the same person they knew before it happened," she says.

Lisa Mayne lives in Wisconsin and she is the mother of two young daughters. This past year, she lost her husband to suicide. She says that it has been particularly difficult for her to see photos and Facebook posts from years prior. She can see how appreciative she'd been for her life, and especially her husband and family.

"It never occurred to me then how absolutely fragile life is or that it was possible to lose anyone I loved and cherished so much, in the blink of an eye," Lisa says. 

So yes, our lives have changed. There are parts of our hearts that may be broken, on some level, forever. But we are still here, and we need you to see us and to reach out.

Please talk to us about the loved ones we've lost.

Perhaps this was the most important request made by fellow survivors of suicide loss. Again and again, this was one sentiment that was repeated. Please allow us to remember our loved ones and please join us in our reminiscing.

Stacie Hill Brant lives in Ontario, Canada. She says that knowing her family and friends are thinking about her loss is important. More than the sadness of the loss though, "I just want to know they remember my son," she says. 

And a grieving widow from Arizona explains the reason why sharing memories of her husband is so important.

"Talking about him helps keep him alive for me." 

My boyfriend John's mother, Jo Macaluso, lost John's brother David to suicide eighteen years ago, and then suffered the heartbreaking loss of John, also to suicide, this past April. Jo explains that it is important to her that people remember her sons, but she doesn't expect anyone to spend a great deal of time talking about the sorrow of the losses. At least not at holiday gatherings that are meant to be joyful.

"It's the funeral and the memorial services where the main focus is on the person lost, I know that. But I still want to be able to talk about my sons at other events, too."

Another mother explained that when people remembered her son, she wanted them to remember his laughter, and not just his sadness. 

Christie Coffey of Indiana reminds of us the importance of talking about memories that were prior to the loss of her husband. "I want to talk about him, not how he died," she says.

Finally, know that your efforts to reach out and include us are appreciated.

If you see us and aren't sure what to say - sometimes the simplest sentiment means the most. "I'm sorry for your loss, and I am glad you are here," can go a long way.

Be patient with us and know that we are working hard to get through the holiday season, and most of us aren't doing it for ourselves - instead we are doing it for our children and loved ones.

We will try to extend our appreciation, but sometimes we too are without words. Some of us are experiencing anger, others of us are in shock or we may feel unbearably sad. For those of us who are still overwhelmed with our loss, it may be difficult for us to express or show how grateful we are for your support.

Please know that even if we aren't able to express it, we are still thankful.

Lisa Mayne puts it beautifully.

"Gratitude is more than a feeling, it’s an awareness that we have been blessed."

So, when you are celebrating the holidays please do reach out to us. Please include us. And please include the memories of our loved ones, as well. These are the things we appreciate the most and for us, these are the true gifts of the season.

Thank you.

Love is the Answer

One word

Frees us of all the weight and pain of life:

That word is love.

― Sophocles

We need you. We need you to talk to us. We need you to listen. Often though, we don't need the pain that can come along with your questions. Questions that seem innocuous to you, may feel dismissive to us. Questions that are meant to let us know that you are there for us, may leave us feeling invisible and abandoned. And questions that are meant to lessen our pain, may end up making it greater.

Like much of my grief journey, it has been in speaking to others who have also endured a loss to suicide, that I have gained a fuller understanding of how certain words and questions impact us. There were striking similarities in terms of the things we found difficult to hear.

I learned that for all of us who have suffered the loss of a loved one, during the first few months after our loss, we are very tender and raw. Well intentioned words are easily misunderstood. Worse yet, misspoken words have the potential to further break our already broken hearts.

But we need you. We need you to talk to us. And especially, we need you to listen. 

So I will start by asking you to listen to me, and to what my fellow survivors of suicide loss have told me.

In the first few months after John died, it was important to me that people showed me that they cared about how I was doing. What was difficult for many to understand was that it was often hard for me when people asked how I was doing. 

When well meaning people asked me how I was, I'd bristle at the question. Here is why. I was doing horribly. Absolutely horribly. The first several months after John died, I was in excruciating pain, all of the time. I was struggling with a heartbreaking loss that went beyond words, and wrestling with guilt and shame that was unfathomable. 

If I didn't know you well, and you said to me: "How are you?" I felt that I only had a few options. 

Telling the truth would likely make us both uncomfortable. I didn't know you that well, after all. I was already stripped bare. I wasn't ready to share the extent of my pain with people that I didn't know well. I already felt conspicuous and broken down in people's eyes. 'How are you' seemed like an innocuous question but struck me as intrusive and sometimes I felt invisible. How was I? Why wasn't the answer obvious?

Another option was that I could lie to you. 

"I'm fine," I could say. Except, I wasn't. 
"I'm ok." I could tell you. Except, I wasn't. 
"I'm doing better." I could say. But even that was a minute by minute thing, not an answer I could commit too. 

So if I said these things in order to avoid additional questioning - I knew I was a liar. Instantly I'd feel guilty. I'd feel as if I was betraying myself and the grief that John deserved. 

You might think I could try to be as honest as possible:

"I don't like that question."
"How do you think I am doing?"
"I'm sorry, but what you are asking feels intrusive to me, given how poorly I am doing."

You might read the answers above and think, 'Bravo! Yes! Tell people the truth!' But every time I tried to do that, the person who I was speaking to would step back and look both hurt and embarrassed. The discomfort I felt from their having asked the question in the first place was immediately multiplied. 

No version of my telling the truth was fair to me, and no version of my lying was fair to me either.

In the end, I'd rely on one statement that was both true and a deflection at the same time. If people asked me how I was - I'd say:

"I'm here."

I want to acknowledge this. Many other survivors said that they appreciated being asked how they were. Many felt it was a reminder that they were cared about far and wide. They weren't caught up in the semantics of how to answer. Someone would say: "How are you?" and they'd reply "I'm ok. Thank you for asking." And the exchange felt good to everyone involved.

But, in no way was I alone in bristling at the question either.

Lisa, who attends a weekly grief group in Colorado, said that many of the members of her group had adjusted the hours that they ran errands in public. 

"We go shopping later at night just to avoid all those well-meaning neighbors/friends/acquaintances asking us 'are you okay'."

Another woman, Susan, explained what it was she wanted to say when she was asked if she was ok:

"No, I'm not ok and I'll never be. He's gone, my life is over, and I don't want to be here anymore."

So, instead of 'how are you?' try saying - I am so sorry for your loss - this simple and obvious statement works in many ways. In seven words you convey that you understand that we have suffered something deeply sad. You are sorry this has happened. And you open up the opportunity for us to tell you more, if we wish. 

Next, please, it's nice to know that someone empathizes with our pain, but always avoid saying 'I know how you feel.' 

Honestly, unless your loss is an exact mirror of my own - do not tell me you know how I feel. By having lost someone to suicide twice - and by being very close to other survivors of suicide loss, I can tell you this:

Every loss is different. The type of pain that I felt when my mother died by suicide is acutely different than what I've experienced as a result of losing John. And grief over other losses in my life has been acutely different than losing someone to suicide. 

I know that my loss is different from that of parents losing children, and I wouldn't dare suggest it was the same. And my loss is different than someone who's lost a sibling, too. When someone tells me that they 'know how I feel,' unless they have been exactly where I am, my feelings are being minimized. I am not alone in this conviction.

One of the women I talked to said that her divorced neighbor told her that she 'understood exactly what it felt like to lose a relationship permanently.'

Try saying these things, instead:

• I can't understand your pain, but I am sorry.

• I can only imagine how painful this must be.

• I can't understand what you are going through, but I am here.

The key here is to let the grieving person lead. If you share a personal story with us, let us be the ones to tell you, 'I know that you understand how I feel.'

Some of the questions that are routinely asked of survivors of suicide loss are no less than shocking in their insensitivity. 

Please, please, unless you know the person well - avoid these questions (I'm using 'he' for brevity only, obviously those who die by suicide are of all genders): 

What was the method he used to die? 
Did he die right away? 
Were you there when it happened? 
Did you find him? 
Did you have to clean up afterward? 
What did he look like dead?

Some of these questions were asked of me, others were asked of fellow survivors of suicide loss I'd spoken to.

For what it is worth - I understand that when you hear about a suicide, there is an immediate urge to know more. Human beings often thrive off of morbid curiosity. I love the television show, 'Forensic Files,' myself. I love the nitty gritty details. So I get wanting to know more. I really do.

However, when we are talking about a direct loss in real life - unless you are very close to those left behind, or to the deceased - asking for specific details is deeply inappropriate. For many of us, when you ask for these details, you are not offering support, you are asking us to be retraumatized.

Some survivors want to talk about these things. Some need to talk about these things. Many others do not, or they only want to talk about them in safe environments. So let us lead these conversations. Do not try to elicit more information if your only reason for doing so is your own curiosity. 

Again, I absolutely can not emphasize how important this is. In grief and PTSD counseling, therapists get special training in this area, because asking for specific details has such a strong potential for causing a person's pain to be worse instead of better.

One of John's best friends since childhood called me soon after his death, and asked me for the details of how John died. That was ok. I understood. This was John's best friend. And a few of my closest friends, of course, asked for a few specifics. That was ok too. They were there to catch me or retract their questions if they could see that I was beginning to fall. Other than that, every other time a question of this nature came up, I was shaken and often sick to my stomach.

If you feel you must have more details - ask people who are not so close to the deceased. Let my friends field those questions for me. Not me. To be clear, I never felt like I didn't want people to know what happened. I just didn't want to invite the visual into my own head. 

Unfortunately, I was asked for these kinds of details numerous times by numerous people. One person who'd never met John and hadn't seen me in decades, asked me what method John had used to die. And he asked the question publicly, on my Facebook page. I deleted the question and never answered.

We don't have to be asked multiple times for it to be upsetting though. Tom, another member of one of my grief groups, said this:

"The worst question was 'How did she do it?' I only heard it one time, but that was enough."

Some of us have responses that are more pointed. Tina, who lost her husband to suicide, said:

"How'd he do it? Does it f**king matter? He's still lying in a box in the ground."

While that response may seem harsh, consider that some of us have already discussed these details with people in environments that are incomprehensible to those who have not been through this kind of loss. 

In cases where guns are used, for example, many people have had to go through painful and invasive direct questioning by the police or medical professionals. In my stepfather's case, when my mother died, he was locked in the back of a police car for hours, while the 'scene was secured'.

One woman in my grief group explained that she wasn't put in the back of a police car, but she was handcuffed and questioned by the police. 

"I was fingerprinted first," she explained. "And I had a GSR [gun shot residue] test done." All of this happened in the first hours after her husband had died.

Another had a similar experience:

"Same here with the GSR tests. They also had me remove my clothing - outside, behind my grandparents' car."

In these cases, we have no choice but to answer the questions asked of us by the police.

Do not ask us to answer those questions again.

It's true that many of us will want to talk about these details, but again, let us lead those conversations.

What can you say to us instead? Try this:

I am so sorry for your loss. I'm here if you want to talk about it.

I was also asked all of the following questions, and in my grief groups - the distress over this line of questioning was unilateral.

Why did he do it?
Didn't you know he was going to do it? 
Were you surprised? 
Did you try to help him?

Those questions may seem unrelated to one another - but they are not, in this one very painful way. They all have an undercurrent of accusation. If we knew our loved one might die, then why didn't we stop them? Many of us were aware of our loved one's suicidal ideation, but we didn't know what to do to help them. Or we'd tried but our efforts failed. Most of us are grappling with terrible guilt and regret over these things already. The guilt and regret is misplaced. While we can do our best to help our loved ones, it is never our fault when they take their lives. Don't add to our internal debate by asking the questions above.

Other similar information-seeking questions should be avoided, simply because - just as was the case prior to someone dying, they remain personal and private details now - It should be entirely up to the survivor to determine whether they want to share this information.

Was he depressed?
What medications was he on? 
What was his diagnosis?
Did he try to get help?
How could you sleep in the same room afterward? 
Why didn't you sell the house right away?
How can you live there still?

Again, there will be some people who want to share these details of their loss with you. But it should be up to the survivor to decide when and what they want to share.

Instead of asking the pointed questions above, again, try this:

I am so sorry for your pain. I am here if you want to talk.

Another line of questions is frequently asked of those of us who've lost a spouse or partner.

Were you even still together?
Did you guys have a fight?
I thought you'd left him?

Again, unilaterally, we felt the questions were dismissive of our feelings and accusatory in nature. Also, just as when our partners were alive, the exact status of our relationship was largely no one else's business.

One woman was asked a similar question by a good friend of hers. 'But you guys were fighting a lot. I mean, if he was still alive, do you think you'd even still be together?

I've been divorced twice and have had other relationships that have ended. I've been in a lot of pain around many of those endings. Broken hearts can be agonizing.

But, broken hearts are nothing compared to losing a partner to suicide. Nothing. Having been fighting with a partner who dies by suicide in the days and weeks before their death, usually adds additional layers of guilt and pain to an already unbearable grief. It does not lessen the pain. Fighting, having recently broken up, or going back and forth - as was the case between John and I, does absolutely nothing to soothe our profound pain. 

Two women in my in my grief group say they were asked the following questions:

I thought you guys were doing good? 
Did you have a fight?

Both of those questions overtly suggest that the fight was the sole reason their partner died. The implication is awful to consider.

Please, acknowledge our pain. Acknowledge the depth of our grief. Acknowledge the trauma we now have to endure knowing that many of us can never take back our final words.

More than one person had their partner shoot themselves in front of them during an argument. Do not suggest to these people that they were at fault. There is nothing about their partner having this reaction to a fight that is rational or fair, nor is the guilt the survivors of this kind of loss are left to contend with.

What can you say instead? Again:

I am so sorry for your loss.

Then, there are the comments meant to assuage guilt by suggesting that the deceased was selfish or that they purposely did something hurtful to the bereaved.

Don't you think he's a coward?
How could he have been so selfish?
Didn't he understand this was a permanent solution to a temporary problem?
How could he have done this to you?
How could he have left his children?
I'm so angry at him.
I will never forgive him for doing this to you.

In my case, I do not blame John, and I feel defensive and protective of him when I hear people suggest that his dying was a rational and therefore selfish decision on his part. 

John was not selfish. Anyone who knew him when he was stable, and even when he wasn't doing well, but was healthier - would tell you the same. John was not a selfish person. He did not suddenly become selfish. He had a disease that impacted his brain and his ability to see things rationally. Ultimately that disease took his life. 

My aunt died of cancer. Do not call her selfish. My neighbor died of a heart attack. Do not call him selfish. A friend had a teenage daughter who was killed in a car accident. Do not call her selfish. John died because of the impact his bipolar disease had on the pain he was in and on his thinking processes. Do not call him selfish.

If we as survivors of suicide loss need to feel angry, let us be the ones to lead that course of discussion. Do not offer it up, unsolicited. 

Anger toward the deceased can be a necessary part of grieving, but it's not always. And the duration of our anger toward the deceased is different for every survivor. Let us be the ones to tell you where we are in that process.

And finally, there is the act of blaming the bereaved. This is one of the most hurtful and damaging of all lines of questions and comments. 

My own experience with being blamed was absolutely horrific. Though I always had the support of John's family, my friends, and even many mutual friends of the person who was blaming me - the pain and humiliation of being blamed tormented me day and night. 

In my case, not only was the person blaming me vocal about it with mutual friends of ours, but she also contacted me directly, several times, sending me messages that were specifically geared toward hurting me as much as possible. I never responded to those messages. I did not want to make light of her feelings or disrespect her. Defending myself would have been ineffective. And I was unwilling to engage in an argument when her own behavior, on so many levels, was indefensible anyway.

The extraordinary ugliness of this kind of blame changed not just my opinion of the person who was blaming me, but often impacted my feelings about the goodness of people in general. The blame significantly contributed to my feelings that the world was unsafe and that people could not be trusted. This was happening at a time when I needed safety and to trust people, more than I ever had before.

I had no concept of how ugly one person could be toward another, until this happened.

Over and over again I have heard similar feelings shared by other survivors of suicide loss, if they'd also been blamed. Being blamed was a cruelty like no other.

Many people in my grief support groups have had to endure uglier treatment than I did. Entire families turning against one another. Young children caught in the crossfire. Family members and loved ones being purposely excluded from funerals and memorial services. Ongoing fights over estates and even fighting over the possession of cremated remains.

If you feel you must assign blame to another person, and you feel you must tell others about it - for the sake of everyone grieving - select people to talk to who only know you, and who will absolutely keep your confidence.

Do not pull mutual friends into the middle. 
Do not pull family members into the middle. 
Do not pull acquaintances into the middle.

I have never seen, heard of, or experienced a polarization between friends and family that occurs in such a tragic and heartbreaking way, as it does when a person publicly blames another for a suicide.

Know too that blame becomes gossip in the flash of a second. If you speak too loudly or you are careless about whom is around when you're talking about your belief that someone is to blame - your words will likely be repeated again and again. People find blame salacious. This is unfortunate but true. 

And remember, you are leaving many people with the impression that you find cruelty comforting, a characteristic in a person that few find endearing. If you are choosing to lash out and hurt another human being at a time when they are likely already in the deepest pain they have ever been in - you are making more of a public statement about yourself than you are about the person you blame. 

If it is very important to you that the person you blame is in pain, I can guarantee you that after a suicide, the people closest to the person who has died are already in unbearable pain and often they are grappling with extraordinary guilt. You do not have to be cruel to them in order to ensure they are suffering tremendously. They are hurting, I can promise you that.

Lives are ruined, children suffer, families are torn apart, and opinions of everyone involved are often changed forever, when one person blames another.

So what do you do instead?

Be a person who chooses kindness over cruelty. Despite your anger and even if you blame another, try to value compassion enough to not add to someone else's pain. 

Perhaps you can manage to care about the children of the person you blame, at least enough to find ways to be kind. This is the same regardless of if the children are young or are teenagers. Consider how your own children might feel if they were hearing from others that their parent was being blamed for something so terrible.

And if you are finding that you can't set your blame aside, speak about it only in private and to parties who you are positive don't have loyalties that might be compromised. 

Move on from your anger by taking the time to learn about suicide and its causes. 

Seek out private grief groups where you can ask for support and seek advice about how to handle your need to accuse another person. 

If you are unable to be kind to someone who is grieving and find yourself unable to control the urge to lash out and hurt them, speaking harshly to them in private, or being intentionally rude, giving them the cold shoulder, or silent treatment in public where it will be seen by others, get professional help to deal with your anger in a more constructive way.

Purposely hurting someone who is grieving a suicide is incomprehensibly cruel.

If you can't stop blaming someone, you can still choose to behave in a way that exemplifies integrity, instead of cruelty.

Be bigger than your need to be cruel.

Many people have asked me what is the best thing to say to someone grieving a suicide. 

The truth is, when I have struggled with harsh words and even downright cruelty, I do always return to that belief in the goodness of people that had been compromised. I do it by looking around and seeing how many people are reaching out in love, and how many people there are who want to comfort me, even if they are unsure of how to do it.

Above, I've offered suggestions as to the kinds of things you might say that would be helpful. But the most important thing you can do doesn't involve words at all.

Remember, we need you. We need you to talk to us. And especially, we need you to listen. Just let us know you are there. This is the thing that most expresses your support and concern. Your love is what we need more than anything else right now.

I know that I speak on behalf of all my fellow survivors of suicide loss here. If you have any questions about what we've lost, how you can help, or what we need, there is one constant.

Love is the answer.

Never Simple

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. 
― Oscar Wilde

Just in case it isn't clear, I believe in suicide prevention. I believe we must work toward preventing this heartbreaking cause of death. Absolutely. This blog exists because of how strongly I feel about working toward suicide prevention.

However, I have a concern about the words 'suicide' and 'preventable' being used together without some qualifiers in place. When we brandish a statement that definitively states that suicide is preventable (or worse yet, that suicide is one hundred percent preventable) we're entering dangerous territory. There are several reasons why I don't like the assertion that suicide is always preventable.

First, for survivors of suicide loss, suggesting that suicides can 'always' be prevented is often offensive and can significantly contribute to guilt, blame and stigma.

Next, it's inaccurate to say that suicides are always preventable. Worldwide, close to a million people a year are losing their lives to suicide. That's too many people. We are missing something. Suicide is not yet entirely preventable if a million people are falling through the cracks.

Finally, saying that suicide is always preventable suggests that we now have done enough research, can always provide effective treatment, and have enough resources to stop all suicides. But evidence just doesn't bear this out to be true. We have a lot more work to do. We do not yet know enough in order to prevent one hundred percent of all suicide deaths. 

So, let's talk about suicide prevention in ways that are accurate. 

• Suicide is Not Always Preventable 

The grief around suicide loss is profound. In professional communities, the grief is categorized as 'Complicated'. This is not just hyperbole. According to Psychology Today, those suffering from Complicated Grief Syndrome remember the past and imagine the future through a particularly distressed lens. They have a difficult time letting go of yearning for the deceased, increased hopelessness about the future, and lingering waves of painful emotions.

From a personal perspective, I will tell you that for those of us who have lost a loved one to suicide, the pain is excruciating. We experience heightened guilt, are often subjected to unjust blame, and the stigma around suicide can contribute to deep shame. It is common to anguish over why we couldn't stop the suicide from happening. Over and over again, we ask ourselves - how could we have failed our loved ones?

For perspective on how the suggestion that 'suicide is one hundred percent preventable' impacts other survivors of suicide loss, I turned to fellow members of one of my grief groups.

One woman explained that she tried absolutely everything to stop her husband's death:

I tried to physically stop my husband multiple times in a five minute period, and I couldn't, he was stronger than me.

Jenn Gilstrap, who lost her husband in March of this year, says:

I tried to prevent my husband's suicide several times. I intervened where I could. But his depression wasn't being treated properly and he wasn't mentally well enough to prevent it on his own.

It isn't hard to see how telling these survivors that their husbands' suicides could have been prevented, is both insensitive and unfair.

One woman who lost both her mother and her father to suicide, shared how she feels when people suggest that her parents' deaths could have been prevented:

Don’t you think just maybe I’d already done everything I could do to try and get them better?

And the above experiences reflect individuals who had some forewarning. What about the people whose loved one who exhibited no signs of being suicidal? Experts agree that this is often the case. 

“Many people who commit suicide do so without letting on they are thinking about it or planning it,” says Dr. Michael Miller, assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School.

So how is it fair or accurate to suggest that deaths that have no predictors can be addressed or prevented one hundred percent of the time? Certainly we can improve our understanding of predictors - but we need more research in order to do that. We are not there yet.

For some survivors, there is an accusatory suggestion in the statement that suicide is 'always' preventable. Huffington Post journalist Dara Zeledon explains it this way:

All the propaganda [about suicide being preventable] rubs salt in the wounds for us survivors who’ve lost a loved one. All the “what ifs” we entertained, had worked through or put to rest, about how we alone could’ve/should’ve saved this person’s life, come flooding back.

Ronnie Walker lost her stepson to suicide. She is the founder of Alliance of Hope for Suicide Loss Survivors, and she has this to say:

I’ve heard similar thoughts expressed by many survivors who upon hearing the assertion, feel even more strongly that they have failed their loved one.  Some say they feel stigmatized by such statements … as if others now look at them as having failed to do enough. Amber, another member of my grief support group who lost her husband to suicide says that she feels that 'suicide is preventable' is 'a throw-away line' which just increases the feelings of guilt loved ones are already struggling with.

You cannot prevent what you don't know about. For Many, there are absolutely no warnings, she says.

If we look at current data about suicide, here is a statement that is more accurate than saying suicide is always preventable:

• Suicide is Sometimes Preventable 

Statistics just don't support the assertion that suicide is always preventable. During the sixteen year period between 1999 and 2015, the United States rate of deaths by suicide increased by over twenty five percent. This is extremely alarming and points to the fact that many of the treatments and services offered to those at risk are either ineffective, unavailable, or both.

Unequivocally, we have to start prioritizing the underlying causes of suicidal intent, and we have to begin to address those causes, now.

The writer Eve Singerman lost her stepbrother to suicide. She is a contributor to the online mental health journal, The Mighty, and in her essay, Being Aware of Suicide Isn't Enough to Prevent It, she makes an important plea:

Please, today, rethink how suicide can be prevented. Read about different mental illnesses, learn to recognize the signs, avoid being judgmental, learn to listen, empathize and support. But as well as this, know the limits of what you do, too. Work towards something achievable: suicide should always be preventable. Let us focus on research and attitudes, and one day soon, cures for mental illnesses.

Let's rephrase what we say about suicide being preventable, one more time:

• Suicide Should Be Preventable 

We can start with this. What is the greatest common denominator among those who have died by suicide? There is one thing that rises above all other risk factors. Mental illness. Studies suggest that 90% of those who die by suicide have a diagnosable mental illness at the time of their death. The degree to which mental illness impacts suicidality can not be overstated.

David Covington is the President-Elect of the American Association of Suicidology and Chair of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline SAMHSA Steering Committee, In his article, Is Suicide Really a Choice? Covington explains depressive mental illnesses this way:

For those of us who have not experienced this kind of darkness, it is extraordinarily difficult to grasp how much like physical pain this anguish can be. Our more typical life experiences of disappointment and sadness, grief and loss, and the normal ups and downs of being human do not provide any accurate translation.

My boyfriend's sister, Teresa Macaluso Celli, lost not only John, but also her brother David to suicide. She has this to say:

If suicide were one hundred percent preventable, then I wouldn't have lost both of my brothers to this painful disease called mental illness. There is no other disease in the world where we put the blame on the patient.

Her point is a good one. Mental illness stigma impacts funding for research, prioritization of treatment and services, and it shames sufferers, which contributes to their being unwilling to get the help that they need.

At present, treatment for those who are mentally ill is vastly inadequate. There is no magic bullet, no single medication, and no surefire protocol. This is a sentiment that is echoed by many survivors of suicide loss. More comments from my grief group:

~  My boyfriend asked for help again and again. He was told that he 'should' be ok after only three days in a hospital. He was not ok.

~  Suicide is just like a death from other illnesses. Sometimes we know they have the illness and sometimes it creeps in and surprises us. Sometimes we get the right medication and treatment options to put the illness in remission and sometimes those options do not work and death is the result.

~ When doctors aren't diagnosing the illness correctly and it isn't being treated properly or the person refuses to even get help...I think the only thing they can do is end it themselves. At least in their minds.

One woman in my grief group who'd lost her husband to suicide says it very simply:

As a society we need to stop looking at death from suicide differently than death from cancer or heart disease. We need to stop blaming the victims and adding to their loved ones pain. 

Do I think that the situation is hopeless? I do not. Do I think that there will ever be adequate information, treatment, and measures in place to prevent all suicides? I don't know, but I do know we can do a lot better than we are doing now.

The pain of being a survivor of suicide loss is too profound for me to sit back and accept that these losses will continue at the rate that we are now seeing. I have to believe that we will do better, for those who've been lost and for those of us who've been left behind.

I'll refer again to David Covington, President-Elect of the American Association of Suicidology. He suggests that successful suicide prevention will require digging deeper into depression, mental illness, and other known risk factors that 'don't fit so neatly on a public-service brochure,' he says:

What is needed are high-quality programs for people with mental health problems, and support services for families struggling with depression. The time to intervene is not just in the hours or days before a suicide attempt, but in the months and even years leading up to it.

Me? I suggest we stop telling the world that suicide is preventable, and start doing the work that will prevent suicide.