Another Beautiful Human Story: Suicide

We often assume there's a "normal" way of life: starting kindergarten at age five, graduating high school at eighteen, going to college, finding a partner, and having a baby or two. Then comes securing a stable job and steadily advancing, buying a house and a couple of cars, and ensuring your children excel in school so they can follow your lead and repeat the cycle, eventually making you grandparents, followed by retirement, travel, and passing away at a ripe old age of ninety or so. Sounds perfect, right?

Growing up, I also believed this was the normal path, and any deviation meant a lesser life. The death of a child, for instance, was not normal. Dying of cancer was unacceptable, as was dying of any disease. A fatal car accident? Unthinkable. Murder, or a freak accident like drowning in your own pool? A spouse having an affair? Never mine! Divorce? Separation? Rape? What about genocide in your own country, or a civil war that tears a nation in two, permanently separating families? These were all deviations from "normal."

Suicide was something I never expected to touch my life, especially not through my son - a son so beloved, kind, brilliant, and beautiful in every way. I thought it was far removed from my reality.

Then, on one fateful day in July 2021, it happened.

He committed suicide.

It didn't just turn my world upside down; it shattered my life from the inside out. In an instant, I was in a different world, with a different mindset. I faced a choice: succumb to utter devastation, or honor my beloved son's final decision. I chose the latter.

I chose to remain in love, because I know who he truly is.

I was well aware of the stigma surrounding suicide. From a young age, understanding its meaning, I knew it was considered an irrevocable sin - because taking your own life meant you could never repent, leading to eternal damnation. Suicide, in other words, was the ultimate, unforgivable sin.

The aftermath of my son's suicide brought not only profound grief but also shame - shame associated with this irrevocable act. A time when comfort was desperately needed was instead colored by the need to protect him from external judgment. It became a lonely place, as some people, unsure how to cope, distanced themselves, simply not knowing how to deal with it.

I began to understand the isolation felt by so many others who have lost family members this way. You become an outsider. Those with young children often avoid you, finding the topic too dark and not wanting their children to learn how Nathan died. They didn't explicitly say this, but their subtle withdrawal was evident. Even one of my closest friends avoided one-on-one meetings, disrupting our usual connection. I'm not blaming her; I'm simply sharing my experience with the stigma of suicide.

Because of its heavy baggage, I avoided using the word "suicide" altogether, instead saying my son "voluntarily left this earth" or "voluntarily transitioned from this world." It was my way of shielding him and my family from shame.

In the almost five years since his passing, I've committed to celebrating his beautiful soul and loving him every day, without holding his decision against him. I realized he owed nothing to anyone; he didn't have to live for anyone else, and no one owes him anything in return.

This life is an individual journey; no one can live it for you. We are born alone, and we die alone. No one can live or die in our place. It's up to each of us. We all live unique lives. No two are the same, even for twins. It's a beautiful and singular journey.

We are all the main characters in our own stories, belonging to various genres.

And I want to say that I wholeheartedly embrace my story. Many might see it as a tragedy. I disagree. I wouldn't change a thing about my beautiful story. Why? Because I was blessed to have a son like mine. I was incredibly lucky to be his mother. I have this family, and we are healing and growing together. I wouldn't trade my story for anyone else's, just as I hope you wouldn't trade yours.

I've come to realize how fortunate I am to have this story, even if others might not want it. I've concluded that this "suicide story" is just another beautiful human story, and I'm proud to share it.

I'm not saying that suicide is okay; no matter the kind of death, it never feels okay. But if it has already occurred, why not honor those who died instead of passing judgment on them or their families?

I champion families who share a similar story. Why not honor those who died by suicide and remember them with love? Why not embrace their families with love and comfort?

When we love each other in this way, I believe the world becomes a more beautiful place for everyone.