The Words We Use Matter: They Died by Suicide
September is National Suicide Awareness Month. Every year, we share statistics, post graphics, remind people to check on those they love, and tell people that it is okay not to be okay. All of those things matter. But after working with people who have lost someone to suicide since 2009, I have learned there is another side of this conversation we don’t talk about nearly enough: the people who are still here.
I have sat across from mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, siblings, children, partners, and friends after someone they love has died by suicide. Every story is different, but I hear the same words again and again: I should have known. Then come the questions. What did I miss? Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t they call me? Was it something I said? What if I had answered the phone? What if I had checked one more time? And eventually, the question underneath so many others: Could I have stopped it?
I have watched people replay their last conversations, reread text messages, remember arguments, and punish themselves over missed phone calls. Ordinary moments suddenly become evidence. They search backward through their lives looking for the clue they believe they should have seen. That is one of the cruelest parts of suicide loss. The person who died is no longer here to answer the questions, so those who loved them are often left trying to answer those questions themselves.
And far too often, they decide the answer must somehow be them.
This is where guilt becomes such a powerful part of suicide grief. Hindsight can be brutal because we are looking at yesterday with information we only have today. Something that seems obvious after a death may not have been obvious while everyone was simply living their lives. Sometimes there are pieces we can understand and process. Sometimes there are questions for which we may never have an answer.
This is also why I have become intentional about the language I use. For generations, we commonly said someone “committed suicide.” That phrase comes from a history when suicide was considered a crime and carried significant moral and religious judgment. Think about the word committed: committed a crime, committed an offense, committed a sin. There is wrongdoing built into that language.
I say they died by suicide.
This isn’t about being politically correct or correcting grieving people. Grief does not need a grammar lesson. It is about recognizing that words carry meaning, and people grieving a suicide are already carrying enough.
Their loved one was more than the way they died. They were somebody’s child, parent, sibling, spouse, friend, coworker, or battle buddy. They laughed, loved, argued, dreamed, made mistakes, had inside jokes and annoying habits. There was an entire human being before that final moment.
Since 2009, I have learned that my job as a therapist isn’t always helping someone find an answer. Sometimes there isn’t one. Sometimes it is sitting beside someone as they learn to live with unanswered questions and helping them separate what they knew then from what they know now.
This September let’s talk about suicide. Let’s ask people how they are doing and stay long enough to hear the real answer. Let’s listen without immediately trying to fix. And let’s remember those left behind.
They did not commit suicide. They died by suicide.
Behind every suicide is a human story. Behind every suicide loss are people learning how to continue living while loving someone who is no longer physically here. They don’t need judgment. They need compassion, room for their questions, and sometimes someone willing to sit beside them when there are no answers.
If you or someone you love is struggling or thinking about suicide, call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
