Rachel A.

Photo via Georgia Tech

If you’re reading this, we need to destigmatize talking about mental health.

What do you say to someone who lost their child to suicide?

That's something I have been trying to figure out for weeks now. “I’m sorry for your loss” is too simple. “He was such a light” feels like a slap in the face. “I'm keeping you in my thoughts” isn't enough. 

Even at the funeral, I couldn't say anything to my aunt or my cousins. In fact, my cousin came and comforted me. I wasn't the one who lost a brother. 

I was sitting on my bed when my sibling called me. I don't know what to expect because they never call me. I pick up the phone to hear my mom sobbing in the background. My sibling tells me my cousin shot himself and all I could say was “Okay.” I hung up the phone and tried to understand everything. I was hopefully optimistic until my mom called me in tears telling me my grandma wanted me to take an Uber home and that by no means could I drive home. It was then I knew my cousin was dead. 

I moved to Georgia when I was ten, leaving all my family in Minnesota. We'd see family for holidays, but as we got older, we all went our separate ways and it got harder to get together. With the exception of our great grandma's funeral, we hadn't all been together in at least 4 years. We had all grown up and had different interests, so it felt hard to have the same connection we did when we were little. When we were little, we were always together for birthdays and holidays. We'd have sleepovers under the pool table at my grandparents’ and live under the trees at our great-grandparents’. I remember making s’mores in my aunt's firepit and forcing my cousins to eat “plant tacos” from the plants in our front yard. 
My cousin was full of life. Whenever we'd be together, he'd have so much energy. He was always smiling and joking around. I only knew he struggled with depression because my mom told me. Otherwise, I probably would've never known. 

Maybe if we still lived in Minnesota, we would've been closer and maybe I could've done something. Maybe I could've reached out more. Maybe this maybe that maybe maybe maybe. Maybe won't bring my cousin back. 

All I know is there is a hole in my family where my cousin should be. That I will soon surpass him in age even though he was older than me. That I will never hear his laugh or see his smile again. That my cousins lost their brother and that my aunt lost her son. And I still don't know what to say to her. 

Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in America, and men are four times more likely to commit suicide than females. I learned this in my psychology class, but there was no clear reason why. Maybe it's because they resort to more deadly ways. Maybe it's because there is a stigma around mental health, especially with men. All I know is that my cousin might still be here if we talked about mental health more. 
Maybe I don't know what to say to my aunt, but I do know that I cannot not talk about it. 

Mental health is real. It impacts everyone in one way or another. The people with the brightest smile in a room are the ones who often struggle the most to smile when alone. 

Give people grace when they slip up. Tell your loved ones you love them and that you're thinking about them. Take time to care for your own mental health. Reach out when you see someone struggling and reach out when you're struggling. Your voice matters. Their voice matters. No one should fight this battle alone. 

Now, I wear my cousin's name on my wrist to remind me that mental health matters and to continue to speak about it. 

To my cousin, we'll be okay. We miss you every day. We'll never stop trying to talk about the hard things. Wherever you are, I hope you're okay. I love you.

Rachel A., Georgia Tech

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