There have been nights, quiet and dark, when I’ve sat alone with the weight of Angé’s absence and thought:
“What if I just went to be with her?”
Not in a dramatic way. Not even in a planned or persistent way. Just a passing thought that somehow, ending it might offer release — or even reunion. That maybe, just maybe, if I stopped trying so hard to survive this pain, I could go where she has gone and escape the ache that seems to never lift.
I didn’t act on it. I didn’t make a plan. But the thought was there. Fleeting, but real.
And I think I’m not alone in this.
This is for anyone who has felt the crushing pressure of mourning and quietly wondered if the pain might end with them. You are not broken. You are not weak. You are not alone. Let’s talk about it.
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Mourning Is Not Something You Get Over
We often talk about grief as if it’s a temporary thing — a season you pass through, a wave you ride out. But mourning is different. Mourning is a state of being. When someone you love dies, you enter into mourning — and you will stay there, in some form, for the rest of your life.
It’s a bit like being an alcoholic. You don’t say, “I used to be one.” You say, “I am one,” even if you’ve been sober for 20 years. Mourning is like that. You learn to live in it, with it, around it — but it never really leaves. Some days, it sleeps quietly. Other days, it wakes up and takes over.
Mourning is not a finish line you cross. It is not something you graduate from or recover from. It is more like a room inside your house. Some days you visit it. Some days you live in it. Some days you manage to close the door for a while. But it’s always there.
And like any room you inhabit long enough, mourning becomes familiar. You learn its creaks and shadows. You learn how to breathe within it. You learn how to make space for joy without dismantling your grief.
Just like an alcoholic learns to live without drinking — but always with the awareness that the desire might re-emerge — mourners learn to live with the possibility that the sharp edge of despair can return at any moment. This is especially true when life brings new losses, or loneliness becomes too heavy to bear.
So we must shift our thinking. Mourning is not a crisis to be fixed. It’s a state to be understood, honored, and lived within. And within that state, suicidal thoughts may return — not because you’ve failed to “move on,” but because you are still loving, still remembering, still aching. And that, in itself, is an act of survival.
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The Normalcy of Suicidal Thoughts in Mourning
Mourning is not only sad — it is relentless. The loss of someone you love can completely upend your life’s purpose, your identity, your daily routines, and your reason to get out of bed. And in that deep fog, many people — even those who’ve never struggled with mental health before — will have a thought like:
• “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
• “What’s the point if they’re not here?”
• “I want to go where they are.”
This is not abnormal. It is not shameful.
These thoughts are a psychological response to being overwhelmed by emotional pain. The brain, desperate for relief, sometimes whispers an escape route. It’s not so much a death wish as it is a wish for the pain to end.
And while these thoughts can be frightening — and should be taken seriously — they do not mean you are broken beyond repair.
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When It Becomes Dangerous
Suicidal ideation lies on a spectrum. Many mourners will have passive thoughts like, “I wish I could just sleep and never wake up.” These are not the same as active thoughts like, “I am going to take my life tomorrow, and here’s how.”
But there’s a sliding scale. And if not addressed, passive thoughts can spiral into deeper despair. That’s why it’s so important to recognize the signs when suicidal thinking shifts from fleeting to focused:
• You start making plans or researching methods.
• You withdraw completely from loved ones or activities.
• You feel hopeless — like things will never improve.
• You begin giving away possessions or writing goodbye notes.
• You feel a strange sense of calm, as if a decision has been made.
If you are anywhere near this line, please know this: you need and deserve help — now, not later. You do not have to figure this out alone.
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Reasons We Stay
There are people, like me, who have fleeting thoughts of ending their lives — but don’t follow through. Why not?
It might be:
• A child who still needs you.
• A friend who texts every day.
• A dog who looks up at you, tail wagging.
• A dream you haven’t lived yet.
• A promise you made to the person you lost.
Sometimes we stay because we’re angry at them for leaving. Sometimes we stay because we still want to experience something — even if it’s just next week’s sunrise.
Sometimes we stay for no noble reason at all. We just… do. And that is enough.
Sometimes we stay because of the simple, everyday reasons — because there is a cup of coffee we want to enjoy tomorrow. Because someone smiled at us at the grocery store. Because the dog needs feeding. Because we haven’t seen the ocean in years.
For some, the reason to stay is not about others. It’s about spite. About not letting the world or fate or grief win. About staying upright just to prove we still can.
Others stay because they know — deep in their bones — that the one they lost would never want their life to end this way. They feel the echo of their person’s voice saying, “Please don’t do this. Live for both of us.” And that echo becomes their anchor.
And then there are those who stay simply because someone else once stayed for them. And so they do the same — passing the baton of survival forward.
Even if you don’t feel a deep sense of purpose right now, staying alive gives you the possibility of finding one.
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Strategies to Cope When the Thoughts Come
You don’t need to be strong. You just need a system. Here are some strategies to use when you feel like the pain is pulling you under:
1. Tell Someone — Call a friend. Text someone. Say, “I’m struggling right now, and I don’t want to be alone with this.” You don’t need to explain everything. Just start the conversation.
2. Delay Action — Make a pact with yourself to do nothing for 24 hours. In that time, talk to someone, sleep, eat something, take a walk. Just give life a little more time to shift.
3. Change Your Environment — Get out of the house. Go somewhere unfamiliar. Even walking to a park, café, or bookstore can offer enough sensory distraction to loosen the grip of suicidal thinking.
4. Write a Letter to the One You Lost — Tell them about your pain. Ask them for help. Write as if they could read it. This act can feel like connection — like they are with you, rather than waiting for you somewhere else.
5. Keep a “Reasons to Stay” List — It could be a child, a future adventure, unfinished art, a promise. Write them down. Keep them close.
6. Talk to a Professional — There are therapists, counselors, and doctors trained to help you hold this pain. You do not have to qualify for help. Pain is enough reason.
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What Help Looks Like
Many people avoid seeking help because they’re afraid of being hospitalized, judged, or dismissed. But mental health support isn’t always about crisis response.
Support can look like:
• A bereavement support group.
• A therapist who understands grief and trauma.
• A doctor who helps manage sleep and depression.
• A crisis line that talks you through your darkest hour.
• A friend who shows up, listens, and doesn’t try to fix it.
Here are some resources to consider (localize as needed):
• South Africa: SADAG Suicide Crisis Line – 0800 567 567
• United States: 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Dial 988
• UK: Samaritans – 116 123
• International: www.suicidestop.com has country-specific helplines
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Talking About It Helps Others Too
If you’re reading this and have survived suicidal thoughts in mourning, your story matters.
You are proof that people can sit in the pain and still live.
Talking about it breaks shame. It shows others that this is not just them. That mourning — real mourning — sometimes takes us to the darkest places in our minds. But that it’s possible to stay. To live. To even laugh again. And to carry their memory — not as a reason to leave, but as a reason to stay.
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Make Your Compelling List to Stay
If you know — even quietly — that you might be one of those people who are prone to depression or suicidal thoughts, don’t leave this to chance. Don’t wait for a good day to remind you that life is worth holding onto. Build your Compelling List to Stay now.
This isn’t just a “reasons to live” list.
It’s your survival blueprint — the one you keep where you can see it every day. On your bathroom mirror. Next to your kettle. By the front door. On your phone’s lock screen. Anywhere your eyes land when you need them most.
Here’s what makes it compelling:
• Things that make your heart beat faster in the best way — the adventures you still want to have, the places you still want to see, the foods you’ve never tried, the books you want to read, the person you might one day meet.
• Commitments to others — the promises you’ve made to children, friends, or loved ones. The unspoken promise that you will not leave them with the kind of pain you’re feeling now.
• Unfinished dreams — the business idea you never launched, the art project you’ve half-painted, the garden you’ve only just planted.
• Daily joys — morning coffee, the smell of rain, the first bite of something sweet, the sound of your favorite song, the feel of clean sheets after a long day.
• Your people — names and faces of those who would shatter if you were gone. Even if you feel far from them, they exist. And your absence would be a wound they carry forever.
• The “what ifs” worth living for — what if things get better? What if you laugh again? What if you fall in love again? What if the best day of your life is still ahead?
This is not about guilt. This is about giving yourself tangible, visible, undeniable reminders that life is still offering you something.
Every time you look at that list, remember: it’s not just for you. It’s for the people who will breathe easier knowing you stayed. For the stranger who will meet your kindness one day and never forget it. For the future version of yourself who will be grateful you didn’t give up.
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Please, Stay
Stay for the sunrise you haven’t seen yet.
Stay for the dog who will wait by the door.
Stay for the story you haven’t told, the child who will need your voice, the friend who doesn’t know they will lean on you next year.
Stay for the meal that will make you close your eyes with pleasure.
Stay for the dance you haven’t yet danced.
Stay because you are part of the thread that holds someone else together.
Stay, because the world without you will be missing something it cannot replace — you.
Stay, because leaving doesn’t end the pain; it transfers it.
Stay, because there is still beauty, still surprise, still possibility.
And stay because, even if you can’t feel it now, there will be a moment — maybe tomorrow, maybe next year — when you will breathe in and think, “I’m glad I’m still here.”
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Reflective Questions
1. Have I had fleeting thoughts of not wanting to continue? What triggered them?
2. Who is one person I could reach out to if these thoughts come again?
3. What are three small reasons I might choose to stay — even just for today?
4. If the person I lost could talk to me now, what might they say about my pain and my future?
A Final Word: You Are Still Here
Mourning is a thief, but it’s also a teacher. And one of the things it teaches us is that life does not stop just because one part of it has.
There is no shame in hurting.
There is no shame in thinking about suicide.
There is only danger in silence.
So, if this is you — if you’ve had those thoughts — please know that you are not weak, crazy, or broken.
You are wounded.
And wounds, when seen and tended to, can heal.
Because of Angé
Because of Angé, I choose to stay.
Even when it hurts.
Even when I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
Because she would want me to live.
Because there is still beauty in the world.
Because someone else might need me to stay too.
