My dad died on Dec. 11, 2025, at 84 years old. I was blessed to have him as my dad for 57 years, but no amount of time could ever have prepared me to lose him.
My dad died by suicide. Since then, I have replayed countless “what ifs,” searching for answers that will never come and carrying a grief that, at times, felt impossible to rise above.
But I refuse to let silence become part of his story. I will not hide how he died. I will not carry shame for something that deserves compassion, understanding and help.
So, I talk about it. I write about it. I publish video shorts about it. I keep telling his story because every time I speak, I push back against the silence and shame that surround suicide.
Looking back, I realized my dad was facing a mental health crisis. One I didn’t recognize or understand at the time.
It is natural to retrace the day he died, searching for the moment when I might have changed what happened. (Impossible, I know that now.) At 6 p.m., my brother called to say Dad was upset and wanted to speak with someone other than my mom or brother. He told me to expect a call. So I waited and that call never came. Eventually, I went to bed.
A Call I’ll Never Forget
At 1 a.m., the phone rang. The nursing home had found my dad dead in his room. Someone on staff had spoken with him only an hour earlier. We later learned that instead of calling me, he had called his best friend and his cousin in New Jersey. They now understood that he was calling to say goodbye.
He left a short note that made little sense. The words did not sound like the dad I knew. They came from a man who believed he was a burden and could not see what his death would do to us. While he may have thought he was sparing us, we were left asking, “How could he leave us?”
The painful truth is that my dad no longer believed he was enough. He could no longer be the person he wanted to be, and in that moment, the darkness convinced him there was no other way.
I wish my dad could have seen himself through our eyes. Our hero. Our leader. He was always enough and then some.
Reach Out if You’re Struggling
I cannot change what happened that night. But I can choose what I do now. I can speak his name. I can talk out loud about suicide. I can remind others that mental health is real and can distort even the deepest love and make someone believe people are better off without them. And I can remind others to ask for help.
If you are struggling, please reach out. Text or call 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Find behavioral health services by calling 800-691-4336. Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed. You are loved and you are enough.
If you are worried about someone, reach out, listen and stay connected. Let them know you are there. Let them know they are loved and they are enough.
I love you, Dad. 264 days without you.
By Kelli Koepsell, Avera Marketing Communications Partner
