By the time my father died, it wasn’t a surprise. It was scary and sad, but it was also a terrible sort of relief. It was an unglamorous death... As a society we’ve come a long way with respect to suicide, mental illness, and addiction, but we have a long way yet to go. When the topic of his death comes up, I often hesitate, pulled between the desire to share openly that my life, like so many others, has been impacted by suicide and that the topic remains heavily stigmatized, emotionally burdensome, and susceptible to all manner of unsolicited—and frequently erroneous—opinions and narratives. I can never settle on what language to use—“he killed himself” sounds too violent; “committed suicide” too clinical; “died by suicide” too affected; “took his own life” too romantic. There is no easy way to accept condolences while also honoring the reality that while he was in pain, he also caused great pain. Although he hurt, he also caused lasting hurt. There is no casual way to remark that his death was a tragedy, but his life was too...
Language: en
", language="en", issn="0098-7484", doi="10.1001/jama.2018.19199", url="http://dx.doi.org/10.1001/jama.2018.19199" }