
My daughters with Grandma & Grandpa on a visit to Long Island.
I remember the first time that I heard my mother’s voice after I found out my father had taken his life. I was in the back of Whole Foods, where I had received the devastating news, sitting with my friend Pam. My husband was on his way to me. But I needed to speak to my mom. So, with my hands shaking and an endless flow of sobs and tears, I dialed the number to the house that my father and mother had shared for over forty years.
My mother answered, and as she recounted what had happened, we sat on the phone crying. And she said to me, “Deborah, I don’t want the girls to know how their grandpa died.” When I asked her why, she answered, “I don’t want them to think he didn’t love them enough to stay.” We both knew that we could not keep this from them. And even more, that we could not possibly grieve a lie. That wasn’t truly what my mother wanted. Her words were not born of shame, but rather the fear that my children would come to see their beloved grandfather as selfish, or perhaps see themselves as “not enough” to keep him here.
I promised my mother, vowed to her in fact, that I would make sure my daughters knew how much their grandpa loved them. I would tell them the truth about how he died, but I would remind them of all that they meant to him in life. Somehow I would find the words to impart all of that.
My husband took me home. And soon after, our daughters began to arrive from school. They did not all come home at the same time. And while it would have been easier to say the words only once, and to have them all together, it was obvious to them, as they walked through the door, that something was terribly wrong. There would be no postponing the conversation.
It began with my middle daughter, who was beaming because, on that same day, she had gotten her braces taken off. A friend had picked her up from school so that she could keep the appointment. And it fell to us to rob her of that smile, as we told her that her grandpa had taken his life.
Then we told our oldest, and finally our youngest.
We began each conversation with the reminder that I promised my mother I would give. “You know how much Grandpa loved you, right? He loved you so much and he was so proud of you.” As the words came out, the expressions on each of my daughters’ faces quickly changed. They could see in our faces that something was wrong. We then tried to gently frame the harsh news that we were about to deliver, “You know how much Grandpa has been struggling these last months? You know he has been dealing with depression and anxiety.” And before we could go further, my daughters knew. The tears and cries spilled out as they asked if their grandpa had killed himself. And my husband & I had to answer them with the hardest truth they would ever have to take in. “Yes. Grandpa took his life early this morning. He’s dead.” And then through my sobs I said the same thing my brother had said to me that morning when he told me of our father’s suicide: “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
The cries and screams that escaped from my children’s mouths, cries that came from a deep & primal place, will never leave me. They are forever seared into my memory. And I can say with certainty, that those were the hardest and most painful words that I have ever spoken to my children. Everything about them felt wrong. And time hasn’t changed that.
My daughters know that their grandfather died by suicide. They do not know the details of his death. They don’t need to and they are not ready for the imagery that my brother, my mother and I struggle with. They also know that their grandfather loved them very much, and that he died of an illness. It’s taken time for them to reach that place of understanding, and it doesn’t mean they don’t still struggle at times. We talk about it openly. They know that there is no right or wrong way to grieve this loss. But just as we did from the moment we shared that painful truth, we face and process the loss honestly.
Before my father was buried, each of my daughters wrote him a letter. They told him how much they loved him. They told him how much they would miss him and they shared their own personal memories and feelings. And in each of their letters they told their grandpa that they were not angry at him. They offered their forgiveness.
Those letters were placed in my father’s casket. He was laid to rest with their words and their love for all eternity. They know the truth. Their Grandpa died of an illness. It was not a reflection of his love for them. He loved them fully, deeply and wholly. That is his enduring legacy. His suicide is the final footnote that they must live with, but it is not & never will be the whole story.

Grandpa & The Greene Girls
This post has been republished on The Mighty
Thank you for this. My father took his life in June of last year. I am an only child and i have 4 children who are 16,13,11 and 5. Telling them was very difficult and at first we didn’t know if we should tell the younger one the truth of how his grandpa passed but in his very intelligent mind and loving heart he somehow knew. My 5 year old out of the blue will tell me he misses grandpa and will sob, it breaks my heart on so many levels. I know and my children know how much he loved them and how proud he was of them. My mom made sure to give each one of the children something of my dads that they now cherish. Your post hits very close to home and i am very sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your story. Tracie
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Tracie, I am so sorry for your loss. I hate that we both lost our fathers in this way, and that we had to share such painful and tragic words with our children. I feel like my children lost their innocence the moment that we told them. This was a “grown-up” thing to handle at only 16, 15 and 12. My middle daughter, now 16, is the one who struggles the most. She wanted more detail than we felt she was ready for and she doesn’t like being in my parent’s home, it is haunting to her. I have tried, with the guidance of my therapist, to answer her questions by looking at their roots. I ask why she wants to know certain things, and try to address that, the larger picture. Thankfully my therapist offers me great insights as to how. My children miss their grandpa, and I think it hurts them to see their own mom struggling so in the aftermath of his suicide. In some ways, they lost a grandparent, and parts of their own parent, all at once. I try daily to show them how hard I am working to come through this. I talk openly about the truth of grief, that the only way through it, is through it. They always ask about my support groups, therapy etc. and I share with them so that they can see the growth and the healing. I laugh more, I smile more and I am more present today than I was eleven months ago. But again, how much they have had to learn about trauma and grief, breaks my heart. Still, I know they are determined to bring purpose to their own pain as well. They are proud of the advocacy work I am doing, and have become much more open in their own sharing. I wish you and your children continued healing Tracie. I hope that as we share our stories, we can help to prevent another parent from having to share the words that we shared with our children.
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[…] If you need help, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is available 24/7 at 1-800-273-8255. Originally published by reflectingoutloud. […]
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What a powerful post! Thank you for sharing this heartbreaking story. I hope it helps others.
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Me too….
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