Being a suicide survivor was never in my plans, and it can be confusing how the Lord could allow it to be. Unfortunately, I am not the only one who’s been forced to join the dreaded group of those left behind, and sadly, I won’t be the last.
While suicide is preventable, it remains a leading cause of death in the United States, meaning each one of you reading this has been affected by suicide in one way or another. Grieving suicide is horrible and may involve feelings such as anger, betrayal, and shame, just to name a few.
The perceived abandonment tied to the intentionality of my dad’s death pushed me into disorienting, complicated grief, also known as prolonged grief. While experts still seek clarity on prolonged grief, and if it is best to be labeled a disorder, in 2022 prolonged grief disorder was added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5-TR), a medical reference book used by doctors as a guide to help diagnose mental disorders. The entry states: “Prolonged grief disorder represents a prolonged maladaptive grief reaction that can be diagnosed only after at least 12 months (6 months in children and adolescents) have elapsed since the death of someone with whom the bereaved had a close relationship. Although in general this time frame reliably discriminates normal grief from grief that continues to be severe and impairing, the duration of adaptive grief may vary individually and cross-culturally.”[1] This struggle may include a deep yearning for your loved one as well as a preoccupation with thinking of them. Other symptoms may include disbelief regarding the death; avoiding reminders of your loved one; excruciating, emotional pain; difficulty continuing or reengaging in relationships with others; and even struggling to plan the future.
Complicated grief is savage. It’s debilitating.
Suicide bereavement, along with grieving other types of traumatic deaths that are sudden, unexpected, and possibly violent, often leads to complicated grief, and it may include elements such as shock, bewilderment, and even a change in fundamental beliefs. “Those who have been bereaved by suicide may have symptoms of post-traumatic stress. If the person witnessed the death or found the body, they may suffer flashbacks or nightmares. This can also happen even if the person did not see them but cannot stop imagining what happened — and imagination may be worse than reality.”[2]
It is in these moments that turning to God in your grief, confusion, and questions through lament is essential to holding onto faith, even when circumstances are unbearable and unbelievable. Lament gives you permission to wrestle with that which is hard to wrap your mind around while still holding onto God’s promises as if your life depends on it. And your life very well may depend on it. Initially, the signs and symptoms of normal grief and complicated grief may appear the same; however, over time, those of complicated grief linger and worsen whereas in normal grief, they fade.
For me, I believe my tightly clutched childhood conviction that revealing grief brought shame, so it was to be hidden, certainly played a part in my experience with complicated grief. I also did not know there was a hopeful way to cry out to God in the midst of persisting sadness over a complicated relationship with the loved one I lost. My dad’s death happened after I accepted Jesus. I understood God to be sovereign and I did believe He loved me. I had faith that Jesus freed me from sin’s grip, and I prayed. However, there was a richness lacking in my relationship with God, for not only did I fail to voice the complicated mess of thoughts that held my mind captive, but I thought telling God my true feelings were wrong. Essentially, I was still performing. I performed for my parents, I performed for audiences, and now I was performing for God. But God doesn’t want our performance, He wants our hearts, complicated emotions and all.
In my story, complicated grief did not stand alone as the only mental health struggle. Not always, but complicated grief can most certainly coexist alongside depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as was the case for me. Although it would be nearly two decades following my dad’s suicide before a mental breakdown and hospitalization would ensure I finally received the help I needed, I believe my struggles of major depressive disorder and PTSD had been prevalent for years, only further complicating the grieving process. The DSM-5-TR continues its entry, begun earlier: “The course of prolonged grief disorder may be complicated by comorbid posttraumatic stress disorder, which is more common in situations of bereavement following the violent death of a loved one (e.g., murder, suicide) when grief for the bereaved may be accompanied by personal life threat and/or witnessing of violent and potentially gruesome death.”[3]
My desperation to understand my dad’s death collided with confusion as to why I cared so much about the man who abandoned me. This unhealthy obsession with all that had conspired invited suicidal ideation to the party.
Stuck in a loop
As days melted into weeks and then years, my thoughts remained consumed by my dad’s life, my experience as his daughter, and his traumatic death. Every detail surrounding his suicide played like a well-worn VHS tape from my childhood. My mind’s eye would watch the horror of his death unfold, rewind, and repeat. While outwardly engaged in life, inwardly I withdrew deeper into continuous rehearsal of every detail. I would think of the moment I learned of his death through his written goodbye with ever-growing frequency and intensity. I imagined where he sat while he composed his final words, and I wondered if he ever considered his children as he penned those goodbyes. I longed for answers where there was no hope of receiving them, and I desperately wondered where God was. I felt rejected by my dad and God alike. You hear of miraculous intervention in suicide stories, but not in my dad’s. I wanted to boldly ask God why. Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t his method fail? Why would you not give him another chance? I did not yet have a concept of lament, so those questions remained stuck in this unhealthy loop, this process we call rumination.
Unhealthy loops of rumination are antithetical to Paul’s instruction to “take every thought captive” (2 Cor. 10:5), but rumination is common in those experiencing complicated grief, Christian and non-Christian alike. Rumination was my attempt to make sense of a nonsensical death, and my attempt at preventing the experience of such a loss again. Continually thinking about my dad’s death and imagining his final moments, fueled worry within me. What if I lose someone else like this? What if I follow in his footsteps? Although connected, worry and rumination differ in that rumination focuses on past negative events, and worry looks forward to the uncertainty of the future and possible negative outcomes. I was grief-stricken, but outwardly, I was holding it together. This grief was complicated and prolonged, lasting more than two decades. There was no anger, no bargaining, no acceptance, only depression. And deep, life-threatening depression at that.
For me, and maybe for you too, holding back from outwardly grieving out of self-preservation also meant holding it back from God. Turning inward and ruminating over my past distracted me from turning to the Father and releasing my pain. Worrying over my future distracted me from turning to the Father, knowing it was all in His loving hands. Trauma kept me in fight-or-flight and my suicidal ideation lied, telling me life would never have meaning.
Although finally receiving professional help changed the course of my life, it was abiding in Christ and experiencing a flourishing relationship with Him that brought me back to life. Connecting to Him as my life source is what transformed grief from a death sentence into a sorrowful teacher that unlocked the beauty of hope like nothing else has.
So, what is the proper way to grieve, not as the world grieves, but with hope (1 Thess. 4:13) even in persisting sorrow? Is there actually a way for meaningless expressions of agony to be transformed into faith-filled cries to God, who can comfort and act on our behalf? While the worldwide church is made up of believers within their cultural norms across the globe, one similarity remains regardless of earthly citizenship. This is where we usher lament fully into our conversation. Lament is not just something to think about in the grieving process, it’s the primary way a follower of Christ should grieve.
It’s through lament that we experience the mystery of grief coexisting with a mind captivated by Christ rather than crushing circumstances. It’s how we wrestle with the pain that seems incomprehensible, and it’s the grace of God given to us so that we may grieve in a healthy and attached way to Him.
Excerpted with permission from Hopeful Sorrow by Julie Busler. Copyright 2025, B&H Publishing.
[1] American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th ed., text revision (American Psychiatric Association Publishing, 2022), 324–25.
[2] Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide, “For Professionals” (2024), accessed January 8, 2024, https://uksobs.org/for-profession- als/how-suicide-bereavement-is-different/?doing_wp_cron=1703254 255.9464759826660156250000.
[3] American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 325.
Julie Busler is a Bible teacher, author, and speaker who is passionate about helping people find hope and joy even in the midst of sorrow. As a mental health advocate, she has authored two books: Joyful Sorrow: Breaking Through the Darkness of Mental Illness and Hopeful Sorrow: Turning To God in Hope When Childhood Wounds Have You Turning Away. She is also a contributing author to Lifeway Women’s Bible study, Grateful. Her heart for evangelism led to her serving as the Oklahoma president of Woman’s Missionary Union (WMU) from 2020-2024. Julie, and her husband, Ryan, have 4 children and have served as missionaries in Canada, Mexico, Germany, and Turkey.
