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Every little bit matters—whether you donate, fundraise, participate in a seasonal campaign, or share your story. Your audience, community, and customers care about mental health. Together we can make a difference. Help get our week-long curriculum in as many schools as possible. This piece was originally featured here on Medium. July 27, , began as an unremarkable summer day. It was a late afternoon for a hilarious dinner with my sons. The rest of us laughed to the point of tears as she offered to ask for their phone numbers on his behalf.
Did you get all that? It is now the date that is forever etched in my brain as The Night Ben Died. The questions. The questions — from friends, family, and the occasional nosy acquaintance who should mind their own business — felt endless. Some of them were spontaneous and well-meaning; others were intrusive; others came as statements, barely masking the curiosity beneath. Some of them had a tinge of judgment, either about Ben or about us after we published the cause of death in the paper.
It must have been such a shock to you, too. Many of the questions and statements about not knowing, about being surprised, condense into one underlying question. It haunts us. Accidents, illness, drugs, cancer, murder… we might ask why these things happen, and we might wonder what made this random twist of fate come home to our lost ones, but suicide is somehow seen as different.
And suicide is seen by many as a choice made by the person who died. Ben made a decision the night he died; he completed suicide. There was no accident, no long noble battle with cancer, no evildoer to blame. It was my son, my beloved Ben, making a mind shift from battling his anxiety and depression, to losing hope, to taking action and making one horrible, impulsive, irrevocable, utterly tragic decision to end his life.
