A recently posted essay (you may download it here) argues that some aspects of suicide are inexplicable and suggests that if survivors of suicide loss who are struggling with the question "Why?" can embrace "the element of mystery as being as real as any other aspect of what [suicide] is all about," they might increase their "understanding and peace of mind by some measure."

Here are some of the observations that I claim "illustrate vital components of suicide that make this self-directed fatal act seem inexplicable":

• Suicide requires the person who dies to overcome the innate human will to live, which is genetically designed to be a powerful and even invincible force.
• Suicidal people, in almost every instance, are ambivalent about killing themselves -- so their behavior leading up to their death can be starkly contradictory because actions driven by the fact that they want to die occur side-by-side with actions motivated by the fact that they want to live.
• Before the person died, internal factors existed -- and perhaps also some external circumstances -- that only he or she knew about.
• In the end, the only person who is eligible to say firsthand why a particular suicide happened is the person who died by suicide in that instance.

The essay lists versions of these conundrums in the form of personalized questions that I hope lead people bereaved by suicide who are bedeviled by the "why" of it to a story of their own about what happened -- a story "based on who you knew the person to be (and who the person in essence still is, in relation to you)."

I recently sent an essay to TAPS Magazine, which is going to be published in its upcoming edition; and I decided to recognize National Survivors of Suicide Day by sharing an excerpt from the essay here on the Grief after Suicide Blog. In the excerpt (you may download it here), I begin with this statement:

I believe the love we feel for a person who has died and the pain of grief we feel are directly and profoundly connected: When people die, our immense love for them is, in a way, the source of our pain.

Then I say that realizing the "pain following the loss of a loved one is a natural phenomenon ... can empower you to give yourself permission to express your pain." I call expressing your pain "a healthy response to the death of a beloved person," implying that such expressions are connected to the loving relationship between you and the now-deceased person. In fact, I declare, "the pain of grief can provide the 'fuel' for profoundly heartfelt discoveries ... [about] the meaning in your loss." I close the excerpt with a list of questions that I hope might help people cope with their pain, followed by this conclusion:

The pain of grief can be terrible, and there is often no sure way to stop pain from unfolding in real time. But finding safe ways to process your pain can help you see beyond it even as it has you in its grip. And reflecting on the connection between your pain and your love for the person who died can help you uncover meaning in your life that comes directly from the relationship you had -- and still have -- with your loved one.

How do we piece together the next thing and the next thing after that? The only answer that makes sense to me is, one thing leads to another -- and becomes purposeful if we pay attention.

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.

"FJC's Journal" is an occasional feature on the Grief after Suicide blog, in which Franklin Cook shares observations about suicide bereavement from his personal experience as a survivor of suicide loss.

"The Wake of Suicide: A Synopsis" is a very brief version of my whole story as a survivor. I wrote it for a friend and colleague who is including it in a book he's working on (I'll post about that when it's published later this year). Here are a few excerpts from the story:

[My father] did not ever -- during the entire course of his life -- receive the help he needed for the problems that killed him, and that's a pity (it is also the answer to "Why?" that points not only to him as an individual but also to his community and our society).

The explanation I would give for being where I am today is that I traversed enough ground to get here, step by step: I grieved by trial-and-error, and my healing turned out to be a holistic experience that I couldn't have caused using a linear strategy.

I do not think in terms of what should or shouldn't have been. My father is dead, he died horrifically, and his death nearly shattered his loved ones in its wake -- and I cannot change that.

I'm posting the story here today in part because, after a bit of a hiatus, I want to return to writing"FJC's Journal" for Grief after Suicide -- and this is a way for me to start over on that. There's a lot to be said for starting over, isn't there? Not only because we have to but because (if we're fortunate and if we're paying attention) we get to, over and over again.

On Sept. 1, 2011, the bereaved mother of a 17-year-old boy who had died by suicide that June posted on the Alliance of Hope Forum a stark summary of how her perspective on life had changed and titled it "Who am I now?" In so doing, she voiced a question that the loss of a loved one to suicide (in fact, to a death by any means), universally prompts among the closest relatives of those left behind. I posted a reply to her at the time, which was published today as part of the Alliance of Hope blog's "From the Forum" series, and I'd like to share it with readers of Grief after Suicide.

In answer to the question, "Who am I now?" I wrote:

The loss of a loved one by suicide can for a time "take away" the fundamental things that orient us to who we are, our sense of safety, our confidence that the world makes sense, our knowledge of the nature -- and solidity -- of our relationships and of our roles within each relationship. “Who am I?” is a very important question that is worthy of an answer.

It is very common for survivors of suicide loss to divide their lives into two "parts," what happened before their loved one died and what happened afterward, and to characterize those two parts of life as two separate "existences." One of the "grief experts" I admire most, Thomas Attig, calls the process of grieving "relearning our world," which has been a very helpful framework for me. The world is a different place without my father in it, by which I mean that the internal landscape that included his presence within it -- along with every association to him that makes up my very personal view of who I am and what I am doing here -- is utterly changed.

The world is not just "different" in the way a person's hair color is different after she dyes it or in the way a person's lifestyle is different after she gets a new job (or loses one), but different in the way that a person's home is different after a tornado breaks it apart and scatters its contents hither and yon (destroying some of them along the way, not to mention wrecking the house).

Until mid-December, I'll be writing "FJC On The Road" posts to keep readers up-to-date on my travels and on my reflections about suicide bereavement. This post -- originally written for the American Association of Suicidology's "Newslink" -- announces this important survey for men who are bereaved by suicide. FJC

What do we know about the needs of men who are bereaved by suicide, and -- if, in fact, male survivors of suicide loss do have unique needs -- what is being done to meet those needs? The answer to the first question is that we know very little specifically about men's needs after they experience a loss to suicide (beyond what we know generally about grief after suicide, about the differences between men's and women's psychological make-up, and about their different styles of communication and help-seeking). The answer to the second question is that almost nothing is being done to meet the special needs of men who have lost a loved one to suicide.

Here is a personal story -- not about grief specifically but about "sharing emotions" -- that illustrates why it is important to find answers to these questions.

The first experience I had that marked me as a man in therapy (as opposed to a woman in therapy) was in early 1982 in an aftercare support group in Twin Falls, Idaho, which was designed to help people who had completed inpatient treatment for addiction make a successful transition back to the community after spending a month in an institution.

Until mid-December, I'll be writing "FJC On the Road" posts to keep readers up-to-date on my travels and on my reflections about suicide bereavement. FJC

There has been a two-week hiatus in posts on Grief after Suicide because I am on the road, having driven from my home in Watertown, Mass., to Colorado Springs, Colo., for last weekend's TAPS National Military Suicide Survivor Seminar. This is the second year I have attended the TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors) event as a trainer of peer helpers on suicide bereavement support group facilitation. I've used the opportunity to refine a facilitation model of my own creation,* called "Peer Sharing Circles."

Peer Sharing Circles are governed by fewer, simpler, and more generally stated "ground rules" (called "Protocols") than those in other mutual-help group approaches. Here are the Protocols:
• I agree to listen attentively and respectfully to the person who is speaking (only one person speaks at a time).
• I agree to talk only about my own experiences and to refer only to my own thoughts, feelings, and beliefs.
• I agree to speak to the whole group (not to just one individual).
• I agree not to judge others, correct others, or give advice to others.
• I agree to keep confidential what is said within the Circle.
• I agree to give the facilitator my attention when he or she asks me to.

"FJC's Journal" is an occasional feature on the Grief after Suicide blog, in which publisher Franklin James Cook shares observations about suicide bereavement based on his personal experience as a survivor of suicide loss.

One of my tasks for publishing the Grief after Suicide blog is, daily, to look at 100 to 200 headlines related to suicide or suicide bereavement. A computer program collects them from the Internet and organizes them into lists for me, one list of headlines on the topic of suicide only, another list on grief only, and another list on suicide and grief. I read the top two or three paragraphs of a dozen or more of the stories I encounter every day, and I read a handful in their entirety. I've been doing this for months, and I did it for a couple of years back in 2008-2010, when I was publishing Suicide Prevention News & Comment.

I've been thinking about the cumulative effect on me of being exposed to all of those reports on suicide. Even if they're about survivors' growth and healing, there is heartbreak in every one of them; and in fact, many are provocatively sorrowful, and a few include graphic details of a death. Why is it that I do not feel traumatized by this? Am I detached? Numb? Have I compartmentalized the suffering caused by suicide? Have I been desensitized to it?

I don't think so. Here is what my experience has been and some observations about my reactions ...

"FJC's Journal" is an occasional feature on the Grief after Suicide blog, in which publisher Franklin Cook shares observations about suicide bereavement based on his personal experience as a survivor of suicide loss.

I decided for World Suicide Prevention Day to write about how my father's death by suicide has protected me, personally, from dying by suicide. I believe I am among many survivors of suicide loss who would say -- without being one bit melodramatic -- that they might have died by suicide had they not experienced the suicide of a loved one.

My experience with suicidal thinking stems in part from the fact that I was a practicing addict from when I was 18 years old until I was 36. There are two incidents from that part of my life that illustrate the connection, for me, between addiction and suicide.

Sometime in early 1990 (just a few months before I got clean for good), I did something that I believe went beyond being "high-risk behavior." About three times within a couple of weeks, I got as drunk as I could get, then smoked one more joint, and drove down Highway 73 south of Martin, S.D. so fast that my car would barely stay on the road -- daring God to kill me the whole way. This would be at three or four in the morning, and I'd cover the 18 miles between Martin and Merriman, Neb. in a dozen minutes. Then I'd turn around in the parking lot of the Sand Bar and drive back north, following the speed limit (more or less), listening to rock-and-roll, and reflecting on the meaning of my life. That seems like a first cousin to suicidal behavior to me, although I didn't think of myself as wanting to die at the time.

The following is from a transcript of the Open to Hope Radio program on Aug. 22, 2013, featuring an interview by OTH hosts Dr. Gloria Horsley and Dr. Heidi Horsley with Franklin Cook, publisher of the Grief after Suicide blog (you can listen to the interview here):

Heidi Horsely: Franklin is our friend. He's also somebody that we work with, and our worlds just keep crossing, and we keep connecting. His father died by suicide in 1978. Franklin is a consultant, speaker, and trainer in peer grief support. After volunteering as a support group facilitator, he became an advisor to the Suicide Prevention Action Network and National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, and he is now developing suicide survivor services based on life coaching principles. He is also one of our Open to Hope authors. Welcome to the show Franklin.

Franklin Cook: Thanks so much for having me. It's so good to be with you both.

Gloria Horsely: Franklin, tell us about your journey. Tell us about your dad dying and how old you were, and that kind of thing, to start.

FC: My dad died a long time ago now, in 1978. He was 49 years old, and I was 24 years old. Unfortunately, he suffered a very, very severe depressive episode, which included psychotic features and suicidality, and he wound up finally being hospitalized. In fact, my dad died in a psychiatric hospital. So that's how our journey began. My mom, and I have three brothers, and it truly changed our lives -- shattered our lives at first -- and we can take that anywhere you'd like to go with it.