Losing a loved one by suicide is a grief that carries not just sorrow, but torturous questions. Why didn't I see it? Could I have done something differently? And with these questions comes a narrative that writes itself insidiously, one in which you become the person who failed, who should have known. This post offers no answers. But it offers recognition of what you are carrying, and some sense that what you feel makes complete sense.

Most people don't talk about their fear of death. They hide it in the background of ordinary days or in the 3am jolts. The fear of death is one of the most universal human experiences there is. This post is an invitation to look at it more directly, not to resolve it, but to understand what it might be carrying, and what it might, surprisingly, have to offer.