by Beth Saadati
Suicide. I hate the word—hate hearing it spoken flippantly in conversation and mentioned casually in songs. Because, when you’ve lived through it, you know what it is.
Suicide is the real-life horror of That Night. Of facing the unexpected without time to prepare. Of the words no parent should have to hear: “Your daughter is dead. She took her own life.”
It’s waking up the next morning (if any rest came) and realizing the nightmare is here to stay.
It’s a dad who does all he can to protect his firstborn from harm. Then has to tell his children their adored older sibling won’t be coming back home.
It’s a ten-year-old girl who adopts her sister’s stuffed bunny and, for years to follow, clutches it tightly each night.
It’s a young boy who fears becoming a teen—“that’s when people bully and boy-girl things get confused”—because a sister he looked up to didn’t make it through.
It’s a mom who scrolls through her newsfeed and LIKEs others’ milestone events. Then swallows hard and wipes away tears, aware that, for one girl, those moments won’t exist.