By Alison
“Even though we can’t see them, our loved ones are always watching over us. They become our guardian angels, guiding us through life’s challenges.”
- Anonymous
What Do I Tell My Kids? Navigating Suicide Loss as a Mother
The hardest part of my reality wasn’t just losing my husband. It was figuring out what to say to our children. In the middle of my own heartbreak, with so many unanswered questions swirling in my mind—Why? Was he in that much pain? Could I have done something? —my focus kept coming back to our kids. They were too young to fully understand what had happened, but old enough to feel the ache of his absence. I knew I had to find a way to help them through this, even as I was barely surviving myself.
It would have been easy to tell my children to forget they had a Daddy. Tell them he abandoned you and take down all of his pictures, plus throw all of his prized possessions out. To tell them you shouldn’t love him – he has no presence in your life. Or just simply state we hate your father and we don’t speak about him in our house. But I didn’t, I won’t because he really did love them. He loved us.
The last thing I needed to do was to teach my children how to hate. Whether it is through words or actions. They will learn to forgive him and remember him for his good and that he was their father. Physically or in spirit.
Even though, I didn’t want them to feel abandoned. I didn’t want them to ever think; Daddy didn’t love us enough to stay. Or worse—that they weren’t enough. And my biggest fear? That one day they might think: If Daddy took his life when he was unhappy, maybe I can too, because I never told them the honest truth on what happened. That single thought terrifies me more than anything. The idea that I could one day lose a child the same way I lost their father is a fear I live with every day. Although, I know speaking about it and having an open dialogue with my children will help them when self-doubt strikes.
Daddy Got Sick
When David passed away, my world changed forever. In that moment, I was not only a grieving partner, but also a mother who had to find the right words to explain the unexplainable to our young children. I told them what I felt they could understand: that Daddy got really sick, and he passed away.
I’ve held onto the truth gently, waiting for the time when they’ll be ready to understand more—when their minds and hearts are prepared to hold the complexity of how he died. When that time comes, we won’t face it alone. I plan to bring in the support of a therapist and school counselor, so that my children feel safe, heard, and supported in every step of their emotional journey. I will remain open and honest about his death to them and not hide it, because they deserve to know the truth.
What matters most to me is that they grow up knowing it’s okay to talk about their feelings—especially the hard ones. I want them to understand that mental health is just as important as physical health. That depression is real. That adult life isn’t always easy—but also that pain doesn’t last forever. Tough days come, but with time, they pass. Days get lighter. Then weeks. Then months. And healing becomes possible.
When Love Remains
Some people have said to me, “Maybe you’re lucky your kids were so young. They won’t resent him the way older children might.” I understand what they mean, but there's nothing lucky about losing a parent. Still, I’ve spoken to many who’ve lost loved ones to suicide, and I’ve heard their heartbreak, their confusion, and yes, sometimes even their resentment. Resentment for the suddenness. For being left behind. For not knowing it was coming.
But for my children, their love for their father is pure and untouched by those layers—for now. To them, he is still their hero. Their guardian angel. He’s part of their world in ways that are hard to explain but beautiful to witness. They talk to him. They play with him in their imaginations. They bring him into their stories and their games. To them, he’s still here in all the ways that matter most.
Furthermore, I was never going to show anger or resentment toward David’s decision in front of our children. I still keep photos of him around the house. They use pictures of him in their school projects, and we still tell stories about him—stories filled with laughter, love, and the vibrant spirit he had. David was a part of their lives, and he will always be a part of who they are.
As they grow older, I will continue to guide them with honesty, compassion, and openness. I want them to know that life is full of beautiful moments, but it also holds pain. And that they are never alone in either. There is always someone to talk to. There is always help. There is always hope.
Moving Forward
We don’t talk enough about how suicide impacts families, especially children. The statistics are alarming: a surviving spouse is more likely to take their own life in the aftermath. There’s even research suggesting those who had family history of suicide were more likely to take their own life than those without such history. These facts sit heavy on my shoulders as I try to raise my children—not just to cope, but to thrive. To be resilient. To understand their worth. To know that pain is temporary, and that there is always another way.
I want them to grow up unafraid to talk about mental health. To know that vulnerability isn’t weakness. That asking for help is courageous. And that their father’s death, tragic as it was, does not define them—or dictate their future. The more they understand about their father’s death, the easier it would be for them to seek help and navigate life.
This journey is hard. Being a single mother is hard. Being a suicide loss survivor is even harder. But every day, I wake up and choose to keep going. For them. For me. For the life their father couldn't find his way back to. I choose for my children to love him as he was – their hero, their friend, and their father.
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