Suicide and the ones left behind

“People learn, early in their lives, what is their reason for being,” Paulo Coelho writes in The Alchemist. “Maybe that’s why they give up on it so early, too. But that’s the way it is.”

Suicide is one of the most devastating losses a person can experience, and yet it remains one of the hardest things to talk about. When someone dies of natural causes, we may grieve, but we understand why it happened. There is an explanation, a medical reason, a tangible answer. But suicide? Suicide leaves a void filled with questions that will never be answered. It forces those left behind into an endless cycle of wondering, Why?

I know this feeling well. I grew up in a world where suicide was something we didn’t talk about, despite it being the most traumatic event of my life. When my father died by suicide, the shock was unbearable, but what followed was something no one prepares you for—the endless unraveling of what-ifs, the deep ache of never knowing why, and the weight of a grief that never truly goes away.

The Five Stages of Grief—But Never Truly Moving On

Psychologists talk about the five stages of grief:

1. Denial – The initial disbelief. This isn’t real. There must be some mistake.

2. Anger – The rage at the unfairness of it all. Why would they do this? Why didn’t they talk to me?

3. Bargaining – The endless cycle of If only… If only I had called that day, if only I had seen the signs, if only I had been enough.

4. Depression – The weight of sadness, the exhaustion, the feeling that life will never be the same again.

5. Acceptance – The understanding that life must go on, even if the pain never fully fades.

For those who lose someone to suicide, these stages don’t always follow in order, and sometimes, we cycle through them endlessly. The healing comes in fleeting moments—laughter on a good day, a sense of peace on an ordinary morning—but the sadness never fully disappears. It becomes a permanent weight, one we learn to carry rather than overcome.

People often focus on the person who died, the pain they must have been in, the darkness that consumed them. And they should. But what about the ones left behind? The ones who wake up every day with a hole in their hearts? The ones who replay memories, looking for missed signs? The ones who now live with an emptiness that will never be filled?

Suicide doesn’t just take a life—it shatters many. It leaves families fractured, friendships forever altered, and loved ones drowning in a grief they never asked for. One moment, life is normal, and the next, it’s a storm you never saw coming, one that changes everything in an instant.

People who die by suicide are often deeply sad, scared, and overwhelmed. But so too are the people they leave behind. The difference is, the ones left behind don’t get to leave. They have to keep going, waking up every day with unanswered questions, trying to find a way forward in a world that no longer makes sense.

We need to talk about suicide—not in hushed voices, not as a taboo subject, but openly, honestly, with the recognition that its impact is far-reaching. Because maybe, just maybe, if we talk about it more, fewer people will feel alone in their darkest moments.

And maybe, those left behind won’t have to suffer in silence.

“No heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream,” Coelho writes. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that grief, like life itself, is a journey. And those of us who walk it must find meaning, even in the pain.

Dillon Murugan