My dear friend CK died by suicide in January 2011. She was struggling mightily with unseen demons that distorted her every thought. I desperately wanted to help her, to cure her. A few days before she died, I sat with her, rubbed her back, and assured her she was loved, cherished, and valued. Because she was. By so so so many. She was the light of our neighborhood. The mom who hosted the playdates and plied our children with unconditional love, perfectly sliced cheese, and an endless supply of “finger jello.” After CK’s death, my then 8-year-old daughter said, “She was my best grown-up friend.” At her funeral, her brother marveled at the number of people who called CK their best friend. 

CK’s suicide devastated our neighborhood and changed it forever. Every school activity, every neighborhood gathering, every girls’ trip had a ribbon of sorrow running through it. We all lamented, “How could this have been prevented?” For years, I suffered from a case of the “if onlys:” IF ONLY I took her to the ER…IF ONLY I knew a person could be suicidal even though she had a beautiful family…IF ONLY I understood a sudden lift in mood was a sign of an impending suicide attempt…IF ONLY I weren’t afraid to ask her directly if she was suicidal… When the calendar turned to September and life seemed to be rolling along, our friend group was still reeling with grief and confusion. September 2011’s Suicide Prevention Month hit different because I erroneously believed I could have prevented CK’s suicide IF ONLY… The guilt and shame I felt because I couldn’t save my sweetest friend was soul-deep, and the term “prevention” added an extra layer to my despair. 

Fast forward to September 2018. My husband Joe took his life a few weeks after I asked for a marital separation. His death annihilated our family and, once again, created shockwaves throughout our neighborhood and his work and friend community. The barrage of shockwaves continues today and knocks me over when I least expect it: when I sold my car and had to submit his death certificate because his name was on the title, when my son applied for a passport and was told both parents must be present at the application center, every first day of school, every graduation and birthday, college dorm move-in days, and every time I see a ladybug. 

Again, I berated myself with IF ONLYs…if only I hadn’t asked him to move out… if only I had been successful getting him into treatment…if only I had been a better wife…if only I hadn’t “given up,” on him…. I spiraled into a bottomless pit of despair, guilt, and shame because I was not able to prevent Joe’s suicide, and the irony that Joe died during Suicide Prevention Month was not lost on me. The term “prevention” once again haunted me and magnified my already unbearable feelings of guilt. I thought, “I DID this because I couldn’t PREVENT it.” I couldn’t make him stay. I couldn’t save my children from the anguish of losing a parent to suicide.

I’m not the only suicide survivor who has mixed feelings about the nomenclature Suicide Prevention Month. Michelle Miller, a suicide survivor and author of the poignant yet hilarious memoir Vodka Soup for the Widowed Soul, said in a 2019 Facebook post, “Prevention means the blame is on me….Oh the naivete of the word prevention. The implication that YOU … have the power to fix a loved one’s brain before it is too late.”   

Through years of soul searching and so much (SO MUCH) therapy, I realized that I alone could not have prevented my loved ones’ suicides. The sad but liberating reality is that you or I cannot singlehandedly prevent suicide. Suicide prevention must be a communal effort. Suicide Prevention Month is about lowering the suicide rates by collectively creating an informed citizenry and educating ourselves about how we can be a small part of the solution; it’s NOT about beating yourself up because you were unable to stop a loved one from taking their life. 

Suicide prevention is everyone’s responsibility, an imperative and urgent responsibility. Together, we must increase mental health awareness, reduce stigma, demonstrate compassion, suspend judgment, have healthy and frank conversations, support school and community mental health programming, and advocate for more accessible mental health care. I realize all of that sounds daunting, so here are some actions you can take individually to help reduce the suicide rate. We will make a difference if we all perform one or two of these actions daily.  

• Have the difficult mental health conversation 
• Let your friends and family know that you are a safe person to talk to about mental health and know where to refer them if they need professional help
• Read books about mental health and suicide
• Donate to a mental health foundation or agency 
• Volunteer for a mental health organization 
• Take a Mental Health First Aid class 
• Practice self-care and encourage others to do the same 
• Encourage young people to enter the mental healthcare profession 
• Check on your friends and family 
• Participate in an awareness walk 
• Keep a visible list of mental health resources in your home and workplace 
• Create a mental health emergency plan 
• Know there will be setbacks along the way 
• And keep pushing forward. 

If you have lost a loved one to suicide and feel guilt that you were not able to save your person, free yourself from the prison of the past and ask yourself how you can join the fight to prevent future suicides by changing the way the world talks about, thinks about, and treats those suffering with mental illness and suicidality. 

Follow our socials throughout Suicide Prevention Month for practical tips on how to help reduce the suicide rate and quell the current mental health crisis. 

https://www.instagram.com/graceloncarfoundation

https://www.facebook.com/TheGraceLoncarFoundation

Suicide prevention is a long game, and we must suit up every day. We can do this, village. We must.