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I was in a bookstore when I got the call on my cell. I knew it had to be bad news if the doctor was calling me herself after the breast biopsy. I stepped outside and sat down. I heard

International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day falls on the Saturday before Thanksgiving and is marked by events in many cities, sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). While others rush around with the start of holiday shopping and

I let in Halloween this year. It just sort of happened. I found myself peeking with curiosity at outlandish yard decorations that I passed in my neighborhood instead of avoiding them like I’ve done the past few years ; I

The fourth Jewish Day of Atonement has just passed since Noah’s suicide. I still can’t fully embrace the work of forgiveness and repentance that I used to do in preparation for the holiday. After suicide, there’s no making amends with

I’ve often pictured what happened to my son as not just a wave of pain that swamped his soul but a veritable tsunami. Like those who try to withstand actual tsunamis, we didn’t see the enormity and power of the

It’s National Suicide Prevention Week, a cause I never noticed until three years ago, and I’m reminded that prevention starts at home. Parents know we need to have “the talk” (or talks) with our adolescent kids about sex and drugs—but

I’ve been reading History of a Suicide: My Sister’s Unfinished Life by poet and author Jill Bialosky (Atria Books, 2011). It’s a masterfully constructed memoir and psychological autopsy of the suicide of her 21-year-old sister, Kim, in 1990. Bialosky draws

 (Noah on French houseboat, 2009) Memorials are often optimistically called celebrations of life. But how do you celebrate the life of a young person who took his life—who both suffered from and caused so much pain? My husband and I

Sometime in the third year after Noah’s suicide, a friend asked if I still talked to him and I said, regretfully, no — except sometimes at the ocean or in the shower. She suggested I write little notes to Noah

Last week was the 34th anniversary of my father’s suicide. He took his life when he was 54 and I was 26. I haven’t written much about that loss here, yet it was a formative experience that shaped much of