"Murderers can at least be questioned, but a suicide is a murder in which the killer is also the victim: in which the reason, the motive, dies with the act." Jeremy Gavron, son of Hannah Gavron, who died by suicide in 1965 at age 29 (The Guardian, U.K. -- also see A Woman on the Edge of Time)

"Connor, Will [Trautwein], Robin Williams -- they died of an illness, just as people die of cancer and heart disease ... It is common. It is treatable. It is curable. And it is ok. The stigma needs to go away. People need to talk about it." Erin Ball, mother of Connor, who died by suicide in 2011 when was 14 (WMUR, Manchester, N.H.)

"Suicide grief is so complicated. It's a very physical pain. It affects every cell in your body." Grace Young, mother of Jack Young Jr., who died by suicide in 2007 at age 27. (Hartford Courant, Conn.)

Yesterday, I encountered an announcement for the Seattle premiere of a documentary, Four Sisters. The four sisters featured in the film are all survivors of the suicide of their brothers. The sisters are pictured above in photographs by filmmaker Caley Cook, from left, Lauren Greenberg, Maria Rivera, Laurie Cook-Heffron, and Laura Habedank. (Each sister introduces herself in a clip from the film, available on the Four Sisters home page.)

I highly recommend the film, for it is a beautiful example of how one survivor's loss (Caley Cook's brother died of suicide) reverberates outward and helps other survivors grapple with the broken pieces of meaning we are all trying to fit together. But this blog post is not about the film: It is about going where you're led -- and paying attention.

In the announcement for the film premiere, Forefront Cares is listed as the host of the event. Forefront Cares is the bereavement support program of Forefront, a statewide initiative at the University of Washington whose "goal is to lead other states in innovative approaches to suicide prevention." Forefront is, in part, the brainchild of a colleague and friend of mine, Sue Eastgard.

One thing leads to another.

My brother, my best friend in life ... lost his battle with bipolar on February 25th ... My brother was also my hero, and we loved to rib each other. I miss him so much every day.

a professional tarot and oracle diviner ... [who] from time to time, when Spirit wishes ... serve[s] as a medium, helping others connect with their departed loved ones

I wish I had the compassion, the strength, the courage to confront him as he was, day by day, losing the will to live.

As for Sedaris's essay, it is brilliant, understated in a way that keeps the depth of the tragedy at arm's length and creates resonant space for a couple of breathtaking moments like this:

"I don't know that it had anything to do with us," my father said. But how could it have not? Doesn't the blood of every suicide splash back on our faces?