I didn't know.
At the end of July 2019, I had dinner in New York with one of my dearest friends. We shared a mediocre dessert, he walked me home and we hugged. A few nights later, he took his own life.
In the wake of his death, people asked me if I knew what was going to happen, if there were signs, if I could work everything out backwards. Maybe they had gotten used to asking. Suicide has been steadily increasing in the United States, especially among adults. In 2022, almost 50,000 Americans died by suicide. The surgeon general has called mental health. “The defining health crisis of our time.”
Because a crisis of this magnitude will not be resolved overnight, the need for etiquette when dealing with the involuntary collective known as “loved ones” has become a strange barometer of the problem. I still worry about offending people who have been traumatized by suicide, and I am one of them. But if we are going to give those who ask questions the benefit of the doubt, surely we can extend that same benefit to those who find themselves in the unfortunate position of answering. To that end, I suggest removing “did you know?” as a reaction to suicide.
Many people who die by suicide suffer from demonstrable depression, ideations, or past attempts: battles fought both externally and internally. But not all cases are like this. And regardless of the directions along the way, “did you know?” It induces fear in those left behind, compounding the pain with feelings of worthlessness.
What exactly is asked of us? (Was my friend someone who would casually suggest that he would rather “commit suicide than walk through Times Square?” Absolutely. But giving such an example would be like trying to help someone locate their car keys by pulling out a corkscrew and asking, “ Will this do?”) Asking a grieving person if they knew that suicide was imminent also runs the risk of making the very people you are trying to comfort feel blamed, as if we had ignored the information. As if we knew it very well.
A few months ago, I spent an afternoon with a friend who had flown into the city to visit her friend, who was dying of cancer. She asked me if she had ever been close to someone who had just days to live. I told her no, she hadn't done it. But that's not entirely true. I have been. I just didn't know it.
The crux of the matter is “did you know?” and questions like this have little to do with the person who died either the person being asked and everything that has to do with the person asking the question. Consciously or not, people want to reframe a terrible story for their own comfort. They want to analyze their own relationships for anomalies, to make sure nothing is missed. They are charged with the only emotion that the grieving person no longer experiences: fear. For us the worst is over. For everyone else? The abyss of the unknown.
Albert Camus wrote: “there is only one really serious philosophical problem: suicide.” But I don't have the answer to one of the world's most notorious enigmas. I'm sure my friend doesn't either. Authority does not come free with proximity.
The reason I am familiar with that quote is because I read Camus' “The Myth of Sisyphus” while working on a book about loss and what happened to my friend. In doing so, I have faced a whole new set of questions about his death and once again I have come up short. Do I feel catharsis? Surely I should, having written a book on this topic. I must?
Recently, one of the book's first readers perplexed me when she asked me: Did I consider not saying that she committed suicide? I couldn't help but smile, as my friend surely would have if he had been there to hear it. What alternative means might this woman have preferred? A falling piano?
He continued until I realized what he was really asking. She felt there was a stigma about suicide and that made her uncomfortable. She felt that by announcing how my friend had died, she was not protecting him. But I think she was asking me to hide something fundamental about my friend: his last act of free will.
What then is the alternative to personal curiosity? To the instinctive response? Try to remember that the bereaved (especially if they were taken by surprise) have to bear the weight of their own ignorance for the rest of their natural lives. Therefore, give the grieving person a break from the questioning, most of which he will do himself. Give them this for the same reason you would offer to wash their dishes or run their errands: so they can get some rest.
Focus instead on what you He did not know. There you will find the most generous condolences, those that can pierce the veil of mourning. Say you wish you had known the person who died. Say how extraordinary their lives must have been, how great their story was. Let's just say we never really know what goes on behind the closed doors of someone's mind, but it's worth keeping trying.
We miss the people we love so much and we haven't stopped. I promise you we will thank you.
Sloane Crosley is a novelist and essayist. Her next book, “Grieving is for the People,” will be published on February 27.
Crisis Counseling and Suicide Prevention Resources
If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, seek help from a professional and call 9-8-8. The United States' first nationwide three-digit mental health crisis hotline, 988, will connect callers with trained mental health counselors. Text “HOME” to 741741 in the US and Canada to reach the Crisis Text Line.
