When facing the loss of a loved one to suicide, I’ve observed two camps of survivors – those who want to try and understand every detail surrounding the final act, and those who never want to know those details. I happen to fall into the former category.
In the hours following my dad’s death, I became desperate for answers. He never clued us in that anything was wrong or that suicide was something he’d ever entertained. What I knew right away were the basic facts – he shot himself in a local park at some point after work. This was all my mom and brother cared to know. But, for some reason, that wasn’t enough for me. As terrible as the details would be, I needed to know all of them because, maybe then, this inconceivable news would begin to make sense. It would be like piecing together a puzzle with the clear picture revealed once I finished. (However, I would later learn that even with all of the details I was able uncover, the puzzle of suicide will never be completed.)
This hunt for answers consumed me at first. I wanted to know how long he had been thinking about this, specifically where in the park it happened, what minute it happened, whether or not he left a note, whether or not he took his glasses off first, etc. When I arrived in my hometown, I began searching his home office for clues – but there were none. My next idea was to go to his workplace to see how he left his desk. Knowing that was the last place he had been, surely there had to be some clues there. In the next couple of days, I went there with my mom but was completely devastated when I arrived. His desk was empty. His office staff thought they were doing us a favor by packing up his things. I nearly collapsed into a chair when it hit me that my opportunity to “feel” him through the last place he was had evaporated. I wanted to sit in his chair and take in everything in the room – were there any telltale signs? Through my sobs, I asked one of his colleagues if she noticed anything out of the ordinary while cleaning his desk. She commented that there was a piece of paper with some irrational scribbles about whether or not he should take his life, which they turned over to authorities. It didn’t seem to be a note he intended to share and none of the reasons made sense. Given that, I was a bit surprised he left it out in the open but realized by that point he was definitely not thinking clearly. She also mentioned that he seemed a bit despondent and stepped out for what they thought was a meal or a break. But, he never returned. While I was infuriated and obviously distraught about his death, these small revelations brought me small shreds of comfort. My curiosity piqued, I needed to continue stringing these final moments together. The large park where he died was several miles away. I don’t know if he went straight there, but I decided to drive there after leaving his office. I kept thinking along the way that I can’t believe he drove that far, with such committed intentions. He made way through the winding, tree-lined path and past softball diamonds where both he and I played games over the years, to his final living place on this earth. When I arrived, there was a police car parked near where he and his vehicle were found. I don’t know if that was a coincidence or not. It didn’t stop me. I parked my car and proceeded to walk along the neighboring riverfront. I felt like I needed to physically see evidence of this act to believe it actually happened. I scoured the area but found nothing. In the back of my mind, I wondered if the police knew who I was and what I was doing there.
Over the next several days, more details began to surface as colleagues, friends and family began to compare notes. Each new revelation felt like a punch in the gut and a sigh of relief at the same time. I’d want to stop digging after each one but something in me still yearned for more. I finally arrived at a place in my grief where I found enough to visualize how the last few days unfolded. And, through his poorly-written desk note, I accepted that he got to a point where he rationalized a decision the majority of people find highly illogical. These details point to signs of depression he worked very hard to brush under the rug. They say hindsight is 20/20, but even with these details, no one would have ever anticipated suicide was on my dad’s mind. This is why I say the puzzle will never be completed – at least in our family. Not having closure is very uncomfortable, but it’s part of the baggage of suicide. I now know enough to understand he wasn’t thinking clearly (even though he thought he made perfect sense) but I will never, ever have a completed puzzle. I’m missing those key pieces here and there that only he could answer.
With the passage of time, I have shifted gears to try and collect as many memories and untold stories about my dad’s life as possible. That seemed to become more important in the long run.
Have you found yourself digging for details around a loved one’s suicide?
I understand the direct cause of my father’s suicide. What has been more difficult for me is letting go of the thought process that if I had done something differently I could have intervened and changed the path he was on. I’ve carried enormous guilt for years and I’m now finally setting it down. He’ll always be a puzzle to me in some ways.
I’m so sorry for your loss and completely understand what you are saying. Jessica has written so many great posts about survivor guilt. While it’s so easy to take on that feeling, we all have to know there was nothing we could have done differently. I hope you are able to find comfort in that.
My 17 year old son took his life last June and on Sunday the 22nd it will be the 1 year anniversary of his overdose attempt. He left a note for the overdose attempt, but not one for the fatal attempt. I have searched his room many times (I still search it when I am feeling especially frustrated with lack of answers). I continue to look back at all of his social media accounts, mostly looking for pictures I haven’t seen, but also keeping an eye out for any clues. Four days before he left he posted about how he was looking forward to summer. I could go talk to his psychologist, but he sent us a note that said he didn’t see this coming at all, so I don’t think that would serve any purpose.
The note he left for the overdose attempt basically said it was for him, he loved us and he hoped things would be better on the other side. I’ve read that evetually I will stop looking for answers and be comfortable with the fact that I will “know that I don’t know”. I hope that days comes soon as I am tired of looking for answers where there aren’t any.
Thank you for your blog–I read every one as soon as you post it.
Hi Michelle – I’m so sorry for the loss of your son. One thing I continue to think about is that it seems many of our loved ones worked really hard to hide their final/ultimate attempt from us. I will never understand it. It’s somewhat relieving to make the switch over to looking for things like new pictures instead of clues.
I did and in way so did my sister. She read the whole last volume of his journal. I had to stop at some point, but she read on to figure out that even when we thought he was having a good day, taking his life was not far from his mind. She told me, “Emily it’s abundantly clear he fought with this pain every day this past year” (basically since his first hospitalization and right before it). And you know that in a way while tough to swallow was an answer. Was it an answer I was particularly fond of? No, but it gave me a little clarity in the fog of why? why did this happen and how did we miss the signs?
Hi Emily – thank you for sharing this. What a blessing and a curse to have his journal to read through. I know that must have been very hard to digest. One thing has become clear to me through these years and it is that our loved ones seemed to face tremendous pain, even if they did their best to keep it from us. It’s unsettling.
I found myself doing the same thing even though I knew my brother was mentally ill & very depressed. I searched his apartment high & low while we were packing everything up. I walked & searched the woods for hours trying to find the exact tree he had hung hisself on but I never found it! The only thing we found was a note in his apartment outside his bathroom door that said “be prepared before you come in” & there was empty bottles of koladapin, a beer bottle, & broken glass. We think he may have attempted suicide in the bathtub but then we realized the tub wouldn’t fill which sure he figured out also & that led him to a tree!! My brother took his life March 24, 2014 & me needing to know exact details have passed since I realize I’ll never get the answers I’m searching for!!
Hi Amy – I’m so sorry for your loss. I bet it was really troubling to find those things in his apartment. I had that similar feeling where I wanted to know and then cringed whenever I did find something.
Thank you & I’m very sorry for your loss also!! It’s not any of our faults that our loved ones took their life. I went through the what ifs & why’s & had I done this but truth is no matter what any of us would of done it would have never stopped them from doing it! Whether you know your loved one is mentally ill or not you have to believe that a person who takes their life is mentally ill& not thinking rationally! I wish I could have stopped but it was out of my hands. Now I just make sure my brothers memory lives on through me. I talk about him every day & say his name out loud every day, he’s always with me, always!! And your dad is always with you too!! ❤️
Wow…I so could’ve written this. after my sister’s suicide I needed to know everything. She jumped from a bridge and her glasses were found. I constantly wondered where exactly they were found, why did she even take them off? I drove to the bridge nearly 30 minutes away and thought about how alone and sad she must’ve felt. She actually went to the bridge twice that night. My mom called her at one point and told her she needed to cone home, it was late. My sis did. She asked my mom to talk when she arrived but my mom said she was too tired and went back to bed. My sister went back to the bridge. my mom is like me and needed to know everything. my dad doesnt want to know anything.We got police reports which unfortunately contained photos that we never shoulf have seen. I read the autopsy report over and over. did she suffer. her cause of death was drowning. We just recently some 16 months later where her glasses were found…on tje ledge. I had wondered if she had jist flung herself over if she stood on the ledge. then the worst part came out…the bridge had videos. There were two different angles. One of her jumping and one of her body hitting the water. 2:20 am. we finally had a time. I feel like most of the puzzle is complete but at the same time its not. sometimes I feel like if I do complete the puzzle I’ll be “rewarded” by her being given back to us. that god will say “congrats you finished the puzzle. Heres your sister back”. Unfortunately I know thatll never happen. thank you for sharing this.
Stephanie, I never thought about it that way but your last sentence might be what I’ve been trying to achieve – getting him back. Just today I was thinking about how years ago a family friend gingerly alluded to hearing the gunshot because she lived nearby. In the moment, I didn’t want to know but I’ve actually thought about reaching out to learn specifically what time. At this stage, I figure, what’s the point? But something in me still wants to know.
I guess its like playing detective. On tv we see that when the detective solves the case its considered a happy ending. Our cases will never be “solved” so were left with a huge cliffhanger..and with no closure. I hope that makes sense.
I’m sorry for your loss. My reaction was similar to yours. I was obsessed with finding out why my 14 year old cousin died by suicide. I hunted for clues everywhere. I even obtained a copy of the autopsy report hoping to find something there. I spoke to a medium who told me I would never know the reason “because Jimmy didn’t want me to know for fear I would lash out at others.” Three years later I still find myself asking why and trying to find the answer I so desperately need.
That is so interesting, Susan! I am sorry for your loss. I have always thought about going to a medium in hopes I would get answers but in the back of my mind I pictured my dad rolling his eyes about this and that if he wanted me to know something the signs or message would come to me directly versus through a stranger.
These are such painful stories and sadly, all too familiar for those who survive a tragic sudden loss. My condolences to each of you.
I think there are multiple layers of impulses and pain driving this need, and nothing as simple or reductive as a mere mystery show/ending.
I think, first, there is an almost obsessive need to know as much as you can as if, in the facts, in the timeline, there is also some narrative, some “storyline” or theory that will make this make sense, that can help our head/hearts to make this cohesive and understandable. Until we learn that each fact doesn’t build to any story that still makes sense to us. We are trying to impose order in our heads at a time where disorder and chaos seem to overtake us. As one post mentioned, you realize you will never know.
Second, I think the facts are sometimes, oddly, a way of holding off the pain – by trying to impose some logic on what happened, using our rational side, we try to avoid the more chaotic and scary emotional knowledge/pain/that is never linear. Focusing on what they did avoids what they felt.
Third, I think in a way, its an attempt to have a sort of conversation with the person who died – show me where you went, what you did, how you felt that day, help me get in your head….because in most cases, we talked and shared so much with the person who left, and here is this huge thing – the hugest thing of all – and who else but them would we turn to when we need to talk it out… as if all these facts were their side of the conversation, some dialogue with us; because we have not yet gotten used to the silence that now echoes their name.
I know people who asked for the coroner’s report, demanded to know blood levels for the surviving spouse of a sibling or last words from a co-worker, or even autopsy photos. I could never ever do that.
Too painful and already too late. The worst is not there, the worst is wondering, just before death – what did they picture that made this painful choice seem easier? What did they fear? Were they looking to death or thinking back on their life? Just there, that last moment, what did they “know” – an unknowable fact that has no story.