At some point in our lives, we take an interest in reading the obituaries. After having read several dozen of them we begin to discern common trends and similarities about them. We also can detect slight differences in how obituaries are written based on the religion, race, ethnicity or age of the deceased person. Frequent in many death notices, where the individual died from a ravaging disease, is the phrase, “after a long and heroic battle against _____.” Of the elderly, who died from natural causes, it’s often said, “She lived a full life,” or, “He was surrounded by his loving family.”

Then there are the obituaries that give no cause of death. Those always make me wonder. Especially when the person seemed “too young” to die. Sometimes, at the end of those notices, there might be a suggestion for family and friends to donate to an addiction recovery program or a mental health clinic. Those are usually good indicators as to why that person died. But sometimes the individual seems too young and no cause of death is given. What then?

Well, that describes my brother’s recent obituary. So, I’ll tell you upfront: He took his own life. I’m not embarrassed to say it, but it does make me a little uncomfortable. Not only did he struggle with alcoholism for many years, but he also committed suicide. What does that say about him? My parents? My sisters and me? What more should we have done? No one’s ashamed to say that their loved one died in combat for their country. But suicide?

My generation of Catholics grew up knowing that the predominant thrust of Catholic theology categorized most suicides as a “mortal sin,” and that those who committed suicide were not afforded a Church funeral or burial, so grave was their sin. And yet, there I was, Henry’s brother, the priest, presiding at his funeral Mass and subsequent burial in a Catholic cemetery. It was the hardest funeral I’ve ever done. Even more difficult than my father’s.

In the weeks since my brother’s death numerous people, who likewise lost a relative to suicide, to include a few chaplain colleagues of mine, have reached out to comfort me. My sisters report the same thing. It’s more common than we realize, but also more common than it should be. There is a consoling effect in knowing that we’re not alone, that others have traversed this way of the cross. I am also grateful (and relieved) that the Catholic Church now teaches, “We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for people who have taken their own lives” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2283).

The other day I slipped into a church to say some prayers. After my prayers in front of the Blessed Sacrament, I noticed that a side chapel had some votive candles to light. Based on the above teaching from the Catechism, I decided to go over to the chapel to light a candle and say a prayer for my brother, Henry. After having lit the candle, I stood in the chapel and prayed for him. Toward the end of my prayer, I looked up at the stained-glass window in that chapel and saw that it was an image of St. Henry, the Bavarian duke. Tears welled up in my eyes. For me, it was a divine coincidence and another soothing consolation.

My brother wasn’t a saint, but he was a good man. And you can see that by reading what was said in his obituary.

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide or a mental health crisis, help is available. You can reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline by dialing 988 or the Catholic Crisis Hotline at 888-808-8724.