A few years ago, my kids lost one of their friends, Michelle, to suicide. Michelle had been a fixture in our household throughout high school. She was a sweet girl, a troubled girl. I have picture of Michelle from when she graduated from Hillcrest High School in my photo album. Michelle died just a year later, just barely twenty, found hanging, a red ribbon wrapped around her neck. My kids all attended her funeral. My son Nick had a tattoo emblazoned on his arm as a tribute to a life cut far too short. The story of Michelle bothered me for years. I found myself going to her Facebook site, reading the comments. It felt goulish, but I couldn't look away. I felt almost ashamed. My experience with Michelle's death informs what I'm about to say. When a friend or a child dies by their own hand, we all share private grief and wonder why it had to happen. We all want the answers that we will never know. But at some point, it's time to move on and celebrate the o...
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