Why I can’t forgive my father for taking his life

By Lisa Sugarman

*WARNING: This post mentions suicide and may be triggering.

When people find out that I lost my father to suicide, one of the most often-asked questions I get is, “Have you been able to forgive him?” And the answer is, no. But it’s not for the reason you might think.

Before I explain why I haven’t forgiven my father for taking his life, though, we need to have a conversation about the word forgiveness. So let’s start there.

Forgiveness is the conscious decision we make to let go of resentment, anger, or the desire for revenge against somebody who’s harmed or wronged us, even if they don’t apologize or deserve forgiveness.

Now, here’s the thing… I’ll never be able to forgive my father for choosing suiciding because my dad didn’t do anything wrong. It’s as simple as that.

My father was sick. He needed help and he couldn’t help himself. That’s why the only thing he believed he had agency over when everything else felt out of control was ending his own pain. So that’s what he did. And while every cell in my body wishes he hadn’t made that extreme decision, I know he made that choice because he believed it was the only way to stop his suffering. And I could never fault him for that. Nor should anyone else.

I mean, ask yourself, do we have to forgive someone who died of cancer? Of course not. Or someone who had a heart attack? Or someone who was killed in an accident? Never. And why is that? It’s because they didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t want to die. They didn’t want to leave their family and their life. They didn’t want to cause anyone pain. There were just extenuating circumstances it was beyond their control.

Let’s focus on that last part for a second… it was beyond their control. Just like how taking his life was beyond my father’s control as a result of his mental illness. He was suffering and hurting and he wasn’t equipped to help himself. Plus, when he died in the late 1970s, he lived in a world where mental illness was heavily stigmatized. Where resources were scarce and it was taboo to reach out and ask for help.

Now, it wasn’t too long before that when the act of dying by suicide was illegal. For centuries, suicide wasn’t just seen as a moral failing, it was treated as a crime. And that perception absolutely helped to shape the attitudes that still affect how suicide and mental health are perceived today, perpetuating an environment of stigma, silence, and shame.

Back when suicide was seen as a criminal act, it reinforced the belief that those who attempted or died by suicide were committing an offense not only against themselves but against society. In places like England, suicide remained illegal until the Suicide Act of 1961, and those who survived suicide attempts could face legal penalties. In some cases, the property of those who ended their own life could be seized, leaving families not only in emotional chaos but also financially ruined. The message was clear: suicide was seen as both unlawful and immoral, and those who engaged in it, along with their families, could be punished.

This legal framework just added fuel to the stigma around suicide. People struggling with suicidal thoughts were often seen as criminals or morally corrupt, instead of people who just needed care, compassion, and support. And the fear of judgment and legal repercussions meant that many people suffering from mental health issues avoided seeking help, choosing instead to suffer in silence. People like my own father. And conversations about suicide became taboo, creating a culture of secrecy around the topic, and the silence just reinforced the idea that suicide was something to be hidden or condemned.

Families of suicide victims were also affected by the harsh stigma. In addition to grieving an unimaginable kind of loss, they often faced judgment from their communities and, in some cases, legal penalties. In many cultures, religious beliefs compounded the issue by framing suicide as a sin, leading to feelings of guilt and shame for the families left behind. And the criminalization of suicide left little room for compassion or understanding of the mental health issues at play.

Fortunately, times and perceptions are changing and more people now understand that suicide is a response to mental illness, which means that the person choosing to die is making that decision out of a desperate attempt to end their own suffering. People have come to recognize that mental illness impairs a person’s ability to think clearly, so their decision to die is the result of an irrational, emotionally fueled state of mind.

The simple truth is, mental illness is like any other illness because it involves biological, psychological, and environmental factors that affect our brain, just like physical illnesses affect our organs. And it requires treatment, support, and management in order to recover. Not forgiveness.

See, we often see forgiveness as a way to promote healing, peace, and emotional well-being, not just for the person being forgiven but also for the one doing the forgiving. We assume that if we forgive them for taking their own life, we’ll also free ourselves from the emotional burden tied to that devastating kind of loss.

But here’s the thing… when we accept the truth that there’s nothing to forgive in the first place, that’s how we free ourselves from the burden of needing forgiveness to heal. Accepting that my father didn’t choose to die because he wanted to hurt us, but because he was consumed by pain he couldn’t control, has allowed me to release the need for forgiveness entirely. It’s also helped me to find peace through understanding, compassion, and acceptance of his suffering. And in doing that, I’ve been able to focus on my own healing, not by forgiving him, but by loving him for the man and the dad and the husband he was and for the struggles he faced. Because in the end, it was never about forgiveness—it was always about radical acceptance. And what’s that? It’s our ability to accept situations that are outside of our control without judging them.

Remember, suicide isn’t a moral failure, it’s the tragic outcome of untreated pain and hopelessness. It’s not immoral or criminal or selfish. And that’s why understanding and acknowledging my father’s pain ultimately replaced the need for me to forgive him. Because, in my heart, there was never anything to forgive.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please call 988 where a trained counselor will be there to help. You can also visit TheHelpHUB.co for resources, tools, and content to help you navigate whatever you’re dealing with in the moment.

Lisa Sugarman is an author, a nationally syndicated columnist, a 3x survivor of suicide loss, a storyteller with the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), a crisis counselor with The Trevor Project, and a mental health advocate. She’s also the Founder of TheHelpHUB.co, the most inclusive and comprehensive free online destination for mental health resources, tools, crisis hotlines & content to help everyone in every community support their unique mental health and wellbeing needs. Lisa is also a facilitator for Safe Place, the virtual support group for survivors of suicide loss at Samaritans Southcoast in Boston and the author of How To Raise Perfectly Imperfect Kids And Be Ok With It, Untying Parent Anxiety, and LIFE: It Is What It Is. She’s also a contributor on the Mental Health Television Network (MHTN) and her work has appeared on Calmerry, Healthline Parenthood, GrownAndFlown, TODAY Parents, Thrive Global, LittleThings, The Washington Post, and Psychology Today. Lisa lives and writes just north of Boston.