I often say in various forms: The pain pockets of grief are infinitely deep. They can never empty. The bright side of that is that as they drain, the tears provide space for an infinite amount of light.

I was drawn to your title in the side pane that probably indicates your great story was boosted because writing about suicide for/from the prevention angle and the angle to remove guilt off the living I have come to realize is part of my dharma and is why I write stories like https://medium.com/illumination/dizain-of-suicide-72bcde4dc8d8

That tells the story of my friendship with Andrew since 1991, who suicided in 2006, and how speaking to his soul in 2012 saved me from ruin in 2013. It starts with this poem I wrote and moves on from there:

We Are Only As Sick As Our Secrets

Suicide provides no relief at all

On ledge imagining end to my pain

Pavement streaming toward me will not end fall

Just before break solution becomes plain

My penance to help others to refrain

Thought my loved ones better off without me

Truth’s too likely they’ll header into sea

Had I known that death cannot be cheated

Baring deep secrets would cure malady

Death would not have left loved ones defeated

This story by Terry Pottinger you will relate to more personally than my own. https://medium.com/@eazeonby/connecting-through-mental-illness-3a0617351e5d subtitle “This is only my body mom, not me. I am standing next to you and am fine.” I share my own for the reasons I stated. I share Terry's because you will connect.