Toyin Falola
Some nights sorrow deepens
into a country,
and the mind opens unwillingly
to exile.
Patrols dim avenues
without passport, without companion,
without map.
Some nights, the heart becomes too heavy
for the body to bear and memory
collects like stones in the bloodstream
and every old wound finds its voice
and begins to testify.
On one such night, a human being
might find her face pressed against
the terrible question: Must I go on?
Not because death is beautiful.
Not because the grave is desirable.
Not because the world has become an enemy.
But because pain has grown so loud
Tomorrow can no longer be heard.
Suicide begins, sometimes,
with that narrowing of the horizon,
when one ugly twist of suffering disguises itself as eternity,
when hopelessness sits in the courtroom of the mind
crowning itself judge and witness.
It declares:
Nothing will change.
Nothing will make sense.
You are a burden to others.
Tomorrow has been canceled.
Hopelessness is a bad prophet.
Though its darkness feels real,
the end it foretells is not set in stone.
In Yorùbá thought, ẹ̀mí is breath, spirit, life—
The mysterious flame that travels inside the fragile vase that is the body.
And orí is more than just physical head:
órí asks what it means to be,
to navigate the crooked roads of destiny,
the inward journey of becoming.
What happens, though, when a person grows weary of the journey?
What happens when the orí can’t be heard,
When ẹ̀mí trembles in the vat of our grief,
When the body that once carried others crumbles,
unable to carry itself?
Judge not this struggle.
Say not:
“They have suffered more than you.”
Pain is not a marketplace
where wounds can be compared and assigned their worth.
Say not:
“You should know better than to give up.”
Even the iroko tree bows down before a strong enough wind.
Mountains split.
Rivers dry up.
Instead, sit beside the wounded.
Sometimes salvation begins
with another human being refusing to leave the room.
Sometimes the greatest sentence is:
I am here.
Not with sermons.
Not with accusations.
Not with the cruelty of easy wisdom.
Just presence.
Because the person contemplating death
may not truly desire nonexistence
as much as an ending to unbearable pain.
And those are not the same thing.
There is a dangerous hour
when exhaustion masquerades as conclusion.
A dangerous hour
when a temporary darkness demands
an irreversible answer.
A dangerous hour
when the mind says:
End the story here.
But who knows what waits beyond the unwritten page?
Who knows which morning
is already walking toward us?
Who knows which stranger
will become a friend,
which humiliation will become wisdom,
which closed door will redirect the journey,
which wound will one day become
the place from which compassion enters?
This is not romantic optimism.
Some losses do not disappear.
Some betrayals leave scars.
Some childhoods cannot be recovered.
Some marriages cannot be repaired.
Some beloved people will not return.
Some injustices will never receive adequate apology.
Healing does not always mean restoration.
Sometimes healing means learning
to carry what cannot be changed
without allowing it to become the whole meaning of existence.
And so, I think of the person
standing beside the invisible cliff.
Perhaps nobody sees the cliff.
At breakfast, they smile.
At work, they answer emails.
At church, mosque, shrine, classroom, market,
they greet everyone.
They laugh.
They say:
“I am fine.”
Ah.
How many graves have been hidden
inside those three words?
How many people walk among us
carrying funerals nobody can see?
We have perfected the art
of recognizing blood
while remaining blind to invisible bleeding.
We ask people to be productive
while their souls are collapsing.
We celebrate achievement
without asking what it costs.
We praise resilience
until resilience itself becomes another prison.
The successful person must remain successful.
The strong mother must remain strong.
The respected professor must remain composed.
The father must provide.
The leader must not tremble.
The young person must have ambition.
And everyone must smile for the photograph.
But who gives the strong permission
to become weak?
Who carries the carrier?
Who consoles the consoler?
Who asks the laughing person
whether laughter has become camouflage?
Our ancestors understood something
modern life sometimes forgets:
A person is not a solitary island of breath.
Eniyan l’aso eniyan.
Human beings are the clothing of human beings.
We cover one another
against the coldness of existence.
Therefore, when one person begins slipping toward the abyss,
the question is not merely:
What is wrong with them?
The deeper question is:
Where are the rest of us?
Where was the listening ear?
Where was the patient friend?
Where was the community
before sorrow became unbearable?
Where were we
when silence started digging the grave?
Yet compassion must never become accusation.
There are sufferings so complicated
that no single friend, family, proverb, prayer, or community
can explain or resolve them.
Sometimes the mind itself becomes wounded.
And a wounded mind deserves care
just as surely as a wounded body.
There should be no shame in saying:
Help me.
Two words.
Perhaps among the bravest words
a human being can speak.
Help me.
My mind is becoming dangerous to me.
Help me.
I cannot carry tonight alone.
Help me.
Stay until morning.
Help me.
Remind me that this hour
is not the whole of my life.
For morning does not always arrive dramatically.
Sometimes morning is merely
one more breath.
Then another.
Then water.
Then a telephone call.
Then someone sitting nearby.
Then sleep.
Then waking.
Then the astonishing discovery
that the unbearable hour
has passed.
And perhaps that is enough.
Not happiness.
Not triumph.
Not some grand philosophy of hope.
Just enough light
for one more step.
Enough breath
for one more hour.
Enough companionship
to postpone the irreversible.
Enough tenderness
to tell death:
Not today.
Because life need not be beautiful every day
to remain worthy of continuation.
A cracked calabash may still hold something precious.
A wounded tree may still produce shade.
A river obstructed by stones
does not cease to be a river.
And the person who has lost the desire to live
has not necessarily lost the possibility
of wanting life again.
So, when the darkness comes,
do not negotiate with eternity
from inside a temporary storm.
Call somebody.
Wake somebody.
Knock on a door.
Say the frightening words.
Cry without dignity.
Let the voice shake.
Let somebody witness the wound.
There is no disgrace
in surviving badly.
Crawl if walking is impossible.
Whisper if speaking is difficult.
Borrow hope
when your own supply is exhausted.
Borrow tomorrow
from someone who can still see it.
And remain.
Remain through this hour.
Remain through this night.
Remain long enough
for despair to discover
that it does not own you.
Remain because the final chapter
should not be written
by the darkest hour.
Remain because ẹ̀mí still moves.
Remain because somewhere beyond this night,
perhaps faintly, perhaps painfully,
perhaps almost invisibly,
morning is gathering itself.
And until it arrives,
remain.
Loss is not alien to human society. It is embedded in human reality. To deny it is to intentionally embrace fallacy and disregard the truth. As much as loss is expected, it is often accepted in different manners, most especially because of the form they take. Categorically, there are those accepted with explanations. In this case, the concerned individuals understand why and sometimes may have thought of the eventuality before it happened. This type could be a result of old age—as the old would eventually die—or a prolonged ailment. Accidents and natural disasters fall into these categories. The possibilities of explanations allow concerned parties to take solace in their circumstances even in pain. They can look back and understand what led to their loss.
Unlike the illustrations above, suicide is different. When it happens, it leaves behind unanswered questions that bother families and friends long after the incident. It brings an uncomfortable situation that outlives the eventual mourning period. Publicly, conversations around suicide mostly address statistical facts on suicides, prevention, and more awareness campaigns. There is hardly any mention of what is left. What remains of those directly attached to the incident? There is less concern for the state or well-being of family and friends who learn of their loved one’s demise by suicide. Modern-day conversation does not make any attempt to account for the silence, questions, and shock that loved ones go through when an incident of this nature happens.
In this case, the loss does not stop with one individual. As a stone dropped into still water, the consequences extend beyond the individual, reaching families, work colleagues, school and classmates, fellow worshippers, and members of the community. Suicide touches the lives of people in ways they may never fully understand. Its effect is so dire that it is almost difficult for people to return to the previous versions of themselves.
In this loss, many families come face to face with more uncertainties. To mourn is to accept that reality cannot be changed. This realization is typical for the bereaved. In their grief, families continue the search for understanding, repeatedly recalling memories, quality moments, gifts, notes, actions, no matter how seemingly insignificant they appear, hoping that something from the past, a piece overlooked, might finally provide clarity and grant closure.
The search becomes exhausting. As much as they seek answers, the questions remain unanswered, as they are rarely answered for them. As the mind ruminates on different scenarios and possible outcomes, grief compounds as loved ones feel powerless, holding onto thoughts of what could have been if they had noticed early enough, if help had been reached far enough. These difficult, yet profound questions compound grief and prolong pain. The quest for meaning is natural to humans. This is why we try to figure things out using bits of available information from memory, isolated remarks, or moments that appeared insignificant at the time.
An absence, a missed call, a confrontation, may acquire enormous significance in retrospect. An ordinary conversation may be replayed repeatedly in search of hidden meaning. Memories that once brought comfort can become attached to questions that refuse to settle.
Unlike grief that slowly but finally settles alongside everyday life, uncertainty is more consequential. It tends to return unexpectedly. This could be during anniversaries, significant celebrations, and family gatherings where absence is impossible to ignore. For everyone involved, there are different emotional thresholds. Emotional burden is rarely carried equally within families. Some seem open to discussions while others mount in silence. Some find solace in remembrance while others prefer denial. These differences in processing grief often place additional strain on relationships already burdened with loss.
Apart from grief, many families encounter another challenge that is less communicated. In many communities, suicide is a controversial topic. It is a subject surrounded by discomfort, misunderstanding, or stigma. In some societies, it is prohibited to discuss it, while some communities maintain neutrality. They do not speak or express opinions. Others avoid the conversation entirely out of fear of causing additional pain. In all three cases, the families of the deceased are further ostracized in their own community.
With time, life gradually returns to normal for everyone else except the loved ones who are left behind. Children and young people usually experience these changes in particularly unique, complex ways. For them, the presence of a parent, sibling, or relative makes their own love more colorful. It is just more than a presence within a household. They are part of these youngsters’ lives and help form a sense of emotional security. In death, that sense of belonging is lost, as family begins to adjust to the new reality. The youngster or child who is yet to understand the severity, in most cases are left to figure out life without structure. The once solid future now suddenly requires rebuilding.
Just like the family, communities usually experience losses of their own. Death by suicide is a loss regardless of the means. Schools, workplaces, and congregations lose familiar faces whose absence would be noticed long after public attention has moved elsewhere. Perhaps this is why suicide cannot be understood solely as an individual issue. The circumstances around it make it so difficult to forget. It is hard to picture a once vibrant colleague, friend, or relative dying by suicide. It forces concerned persons to check for complicity even when they are not.
Suicide attempts are often silent moves. This is why mental health professionals have an important role to play. Their role does not absolve families and close acquaintances of their own part. Every social institution has a part to play. The families, schools, employers, faith communities, and governments have roles to play. The environment and factors around people can influence whether struggles are dismissed or recognized. This is why it is important to have a social buffer where persons with suicidal intent can seek help.
In discussing suicide, one needs to understand how the family learns to live with uncertainty and what space is created for conversations that do not fit neatly into timelines of mourning. Most importantly, the community should be such that people can rebuild their lives around an unexpected absence.
It is important to stop addressing suicide superficially. It is a critical matter that requires balanced perspectives to efficiently provide the needed support for concerned individuals to prevent any loss of life through suicide, and a strong social structure to help families to learn to process the grief and live meaningfully.
Insightful sir.
Deep wisdom.