If you are having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). You can find more resources from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention here.

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He died of an incurable disease. That’s how I normally respond to people who ask how my 18-year-old son Quentin died since it’s less disturbing than telling them he died from suicide. The statistics related to youth suicide compiled by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are staggering:

• Suicide is the second leading cause of death for people aged 14-18 and 10-24.
• 8% of high school-aged students seriously considered suicide in 2019.
• In 2021, 9% of all high school students stated they had attempted suicide during the previous 12 months.
• In 2021, more than a quarter (26.3%) of high school students identifying as lesbian, gay, or bisexual reported attempting suicide in the prior 12 months.

Like all young people who die by suicide Quentin was more than a statistic. His radiant smile and booming laugh created close friendships and countless acquaintances. He earned high grades, was a leader in his school’s theater program, and played sports. Quentin opposed injustice and personally identified with marginalized communities, so he volunteered with a nonprofit that supports youth literacy in low-wealth communities. Although he died less than a month before his high school graduation, he had enrolled in college and intended to study sociology. He planned to become a social worker to aid imprisoned persons. In his brief 18 years Quentin brought joy, goodness, and light to the world.

When returning to Rome from World Youth Day in Lisbon, a reporter asked Pope Francis about the scourge of suicide, “What would you say to their family members, who, given Catholic teaching on suicide, suffer at the thought that he or she went to hell?”

The question was necessary because a stigma persists, as if suicide were a moral failure instead of the result of profound inner anguish. Some Catholics mistakenly believe people who die by suicide are implicitly condemned, and heartbreaking stories occasionally emerge about priests making cruel remarks during funeral homilies. But thankfully times are changing.

At the Angelus on World Mental Health Day 2021, Pope Francis addressed the stigmatization related to suicide. “I would like to remember our brothers and sisters affected by mental disorders and also the victims, often young, of suicide. Let us pray for them and for their families, so that they are not left alone or discriminated against, but welcomed and supported.”

The Catechism forbids suicide under the commandment of “Thou shall not kill” (paragraphs 2280-83), however it concludes with evangelistic hope. “We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.”

We who have survived suicide loss go through a range of feelings, including denial, loneliness, rage, guilt, grief, and in some cases relief. Unanswerable questions surrounding our loved one’s passing abound. “Why? What more could I have done? Why didn’t I notice any warning signs?” Survivors often undergo a spiritual struggle. “Why did God let this happen? Where was God in it? Is this God’s punishment from my parenting?” Seldom do we need someone to reply. Responses such as, “God must have needed them up in heaven,” place the blame on God and aggravate our suffering. Instead of answering, just sitting with a distraught survivor and listening to them bestows the invaluable gift of solidarity.

Each survivor’s experience is unique, but I have lived with an acute perception of absence. It was as though someone had physically ripped my heart out of my chest when Quentin died. The universe appeared to have opened, leaving a Quentin-shaped void.

My therapist treated me for depression and the trauma of discovering him, but I needed spiritual support to carry the soul-crushing weight of loss. Although my parish had a grief support group, it can be virtually impossible to locate ministries designed for survivors such as Loving Outreach to Survivors of Suicide in the Archdiocese of Chicago. My hope is that parishes and dioceses will become more intentional about suicide loss ministry.

Even without that, the Church has contributed to my spiritual well-being by bringing presence to my ubiquitous sense of absence. Given that the Eucharist is the source and summit of the Catholic faith, this may not come as a surprise.

The Gift of Presence

Presence of People. It began the day after Quentin’s death when my daughters and I met with our parish’s bereavement team. They helped plan the funeral, listened to our stories, and consoled us as we wept. They respected our sorrow and never asked how Quentin had died. By their presence, they became Joseph of Arimathea who donated the Holy Sepulchre and the disciples who remained at the foot of the cross with the Blessed Virgin Mary. Pope Francis recognized all who serve the bereaved. “May the Church’s pastors and communities come to their aid in prayer, acts of concrete help, and with tenderness.”

Presence of Scripture. My legs shook during Quentin’s funeral. However, I recall being gently upheld as we listened to the readings. Revelation 14:4 assured us that Quentin was at rest and his good works accompanied him, and Psalm 130 reminded us that the Lord hears our cries. 1 John 3:1-2 guaranteed God’s boundless love, and John 6:37-40 promised that our Lord “should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.” I revisit these scriptures often because I perceive God’s loving presence in the God-breathed word. As Dei Verbum (21) says, “For in the sacred books, the Father who is in heaven meets His children with great love and speaks with them.”

Presence of Liturgy. My pain and tears were the only prayers I could muster for about a year. The Church, though, continued to pray, and that persistent prayer carried me during those catastrophic days. Liturgical prayer continues to sustain me when I hear prayers for the dead in every Mass.

Eucharistic Prayer II has grown particularly meaningful. “Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection and all who have died in your mercy: welcome them into the light of your face.” The light of God’s face dramatically illuminates the darkness Quentin must have felt that night.

Eucharistic Prayer IV echoes the Catechism’s assurance of God’s salvation to persons who die by suicide. “Remember also those who have died in the peace of your Christ and all the dead, whose faith you alone have known.” Quentin did not die peacefully, yet the Church prays for him. The liturgical prayer for him also confirms to me God’s saving action in Christ.

Presence in Sacraments. Receiving the Eucharist assures me of our Lord’s personal presence, and I find solace in the profession of his resurrection, which sets us free from death. The sacrament of reconciliation provides me a safe haven to take my failings. There I encounter our Lord and receive pardon and peace in the prayer of absolution. My wife embodies the presence of our Lord in the sacrament of matrimony as she supports me through the indescribably difficult times. And I hope I have done the same for her.

Presence in Prayer. As I pray in silence near the tabernacle, Eucharistic adoration consoles me, and my crucifix reminds me of our Lord’s solidarity with the dying. Rosary beads ground me in the present moment by focusing my mind and keeping it from wandering. Praying with religious art shapes my sorrow. Raising of Jairus’ Daughter by Paolo Varonese allows me to enter the scene and stand next to our Lord as he raises a dead child. Michaelangelo’s Pietà connects my grief to the Blessed Virgin Mary like nothing else.

Presence at All Souls: All Souls Day, or the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, has evolved into an indispensable holy day. My parish, like many others, provides a Book of Remembrance in which people write the names of their departed loved ones. This is taken close to the altar with their photographs. Their closeness to the Blessed Sacrament demonstrates the day’s collect. “With the mortality of this life overcome, they may gaze eternally on you, their Creator and Redeemer.”

The first reading for All Souls, Wisdom 3:1-9, teaches, “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.” When I pray with an icon of this text, I can picture Quentin and others who have died by suicide in God’s loving embrace, freed from the agony of depression and anxiety.

Presence of the Pope. In his 2023 Palm Sunday homily, Pope Francis lamented, “The young burdened by great interior emptiness, with no one prepared to listen to their cry of pain. And they find no path other than suicide. The abandoned of our day. The ‘Christs’ of our day.” Pope Francis moved me to tears, and I felt compelled to write him.

A few weeks later, the Vatican’s Secretariat of State responded, expressing the pope’s condolences. The letter stated that Pope Francis had prayed for Quentin’s eternal rest. Echoing his Palm Sunday homily, the letter acknowledged that Quentin had born the weight of the Cross. It came with a rosary blessed by the pope, which I use recall Quentin while meditating on the mysteries. With each, “remember us sinners now and at the hour of our death,” I feel confident that Quentin did not die alone. The Mother of God stood nearby my son as she had with her own, holding him in the same way she had embraced her son after his deposition from the Cross.

There is no “Catholic formula” for easing the grief of suicide loss, nor is there a Catholic roadmap with step-by-step directions leading to a place of clarity. Survivors cannot expect instantaneous results by receiving a blessing, reciting a prayer, or visiting a shrine. That is not how making sense of the senseless works. My grief still wells up unexpectedly, leaving me awash in a sea of tears. However, the Church and steadfast practice of Catholic spirituality have been God’s presence me.

Catholic Outreach

Because Pope Francis sees the Church as a field hospital, the frontline workers in parishes need the tools to serve. Bishop John Dolan of Phoenix, Arizona has openly discussed the deaths of four of his family members to suicide, and his diocese has opened an Office of Mental Health. He has also instituted a Mass of Remembrance for Persons Who Died By Suicide. I’d love to see all dioceses follow his lead.

He and deacon Ed Shoener, who sadly experienced the tragic death of his daughter, have co-edited the books When a Loved One Dies by Suicide and Responding to Suicide. Deacon Ed founded the Association of Catholic Mental Health Ministers and has created a video series that follows the book. The videos are available through Formed, a service available through many parishes. Ministering to survivors of suicide loss is an area in which the Church can grow.

I have begun working with my parish’s volunteer coordinator to start a suicide loss survivor support ministry. We intend for it to begin after the first of the year. There is a need for persons who are trained in aiding sufferers of suicide loss to join the parish bereavement ministry, and for trained facilitators parishes and dioceses to lead support groups. Masses of Remembrance and prayer litanies would aid the deceased, strengthen survivors, and catechize the faithful in the Church’s teaching.

Until that time comes, the body of Christ can offer spiritual support by consistently bringing the ministry of loving presence. Being the Real Presence to survivors of suicide loss is a ministry the Church can specialize in.

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Image: Righteous Hand of God icon. Provided by the author.