09/10/2026
September is Su***de Prevention Month, and this one will always be personal for me. 💜🩵
My dad died by su***de at 48 years old, when I was 16. My sister was 12, and my mom was 46. What happened that night and everything that came after had a profound impact on who I became. There’s really no version of my life where losing my dad that way didn’t change me.
It’s been 29 years now, which is honestly hard for me to wrap my head around. I’m 46 now, the same age my mom was when my dad died. I don’t think I could have understood at 16 what that meant for her, but I understand it differently now. Somewhere along the way I became a therapist, and looking back, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t entirely unrelated.😬 I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to understand people, pain, why our brains do what they do, and what actually helps us heal.
My dad was a lot of things before he was a person who died by su***de. He was a husband, a dad, a son and a brother. He was a dentist, and his career was an important part of who he was. He was a great athlete and an amazing singer, loved nature, was smart, hardworking and could be ridiculously silly. He loved his family and friends and was very loved by them.
He was also the kind of brother who stepped in when his sister was struggling with her own mental health and helped care for her daughter. He had struggles of his own too, including with mental health and substance use. Those things were part of his story, but they were never all of him.
He was so much more than his struggles and so much more than the way he died. His life ended way too damn soon, but his death doesn’t get to define the 48 years he lived before it.
That’s also why I intentionally say my dad died by su***de rather than “committed su***de.” Su***de isn’t a crime someone commits. It may seem like a small change in language, but words matter, especially when we’re trying to remove shame and stigma and make it safer for people to talk honestly about what they’re going through.
There’s another part of su***de awareness that I don’t think we talk about nearly enough: the people left behind. Losing someone to su***de is a particular kind of grief. Along with the loss can come trauma, anger, guilt, confusion and so many questions about what you knew, what you didn’t know, what you missed or what you might have done differently. Somehow you have to make sense of something that may never completely make sense while continuing to live your own life. ❤️🩹
My mom lost her husband, my sister and I lost our dad, his mom lost her son, and his only sister lost her brother. He also had brothers and sisters-in-law who were truly siblings to him. His friends lost their friend, his patients lost their dentist, and so many other people lost someone who mattered deeply to them. One person dies by su***de, but the impact of that death moves outward through families, friendships and generations.
My dad died late at night on my sister’s 12th birthday. I’ve thought about that detail a lot over the years because, to me, it says something important about just how compromised his thinking had become. This was a man who loved his children. I don’t believe the healthy version of my dad could have understood what that choice would mean for his 12-year-old daughter, or that her birthday would forever also be the day her dad died.😭
We sometimes talk about mental illness as though it exists somewhere separate from the body, but the brain is an organ too. When the brain is struggling, our thinking can become profoundly distorted. Severe depression and suicidal despair can narrow a person’s perspective until possibilities they might normally see become almost impossible to access. Pain can feel permanent, a survivable setback can feel catastrophic, and thoughts that aren’t true can feel completely and unquestionably true.
None of that makes what happened less devastating, and it doesn’t erase the consequences for the people left behind. But it has helped me understand how someone who loved us so much could do something that caused so much pain.
So during Su***de Prevention Month, I also want to acknowledge su***de loss survivors, the family members and friends who are left trying to make sense of something that may never fully make sense. Twenty-nine years later, I don’t think healing has meant leaving the loss behind. It has meant learning how to integrate it into my life, understanding it differently as I’ve gotten older, and trying to make meaning from something I desperately wish had never happened.
I can’t change what happened to my dad, and I would obviously give anything for this not to be part of our story. But since it is, I’ve tried to do something meaningful with what it left behind. For me personally, my faith in God has been part of that healing and meaning-making too. Maybe the work I do, the people I’ve been able to help, and conversations like this are part of how I make sure his loss wasn’t entirely in vain.🙏
Almost 30 years later, su***de is also a very real part of the work I do. I work extensively with depression and mood disorders, and suicidal thoughts are something I assess, talk about and treat regularly. One of the biggest things I’ve learned, both personally and professionally, is that pain changes thinking. Hopelessness tells you nothing will change, shame tells you everyone would be better without you, and depression can convince you that the way you feel right now is the way you will feel forever.
Those thoughts can feel completely true while still being utterly false.
I wish my dad could have seen what we can see now. There was more life on the other side of what felt unbearable. There usually is, and sometimes the most important thing we can do is stay long enough to find out.
If you’re struggling, please tell somebody. You don’t have to wait until it gets “bad enough,” know exactly what to say, or figure it all out by yourself. Find a therapist you genuinely click with and feel safe enough to be completely honest with. Not every therapist is going to be your person, and that’s okay. Finding the right one can make all the difference.🙌🏽
And if you’ve lost someone to su***de, tell me something about who they were, not just how they died. Tell me what made them them, what made you laugh, or what you still miss. If you’ve survived your own suicidal thoughts or an attempt and want to share that part of your story, there’s room for that here too.
My dad has been gone for 29 years, and his life was so much bigger than the way it ended. ❤️
If you or someone you love is in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the 988 Su***de & Crisis Lifeline.
