A May 27 obituary chronicling the vibrant life of a Northampton native brought home to me again that when a person dies by suicide, there is so much more to that story.

I offer condolences to the heartbroken family of Beth Ann LaBerge. And I thank them for telling a fuller story than we often read: that she was a loving wife, daughter, mother, dancer, animal lover. She was also a person who struggled with an illness: depression, treatable, but sometimes stubborn and insidious. It can so deeply impact the brain that it makes those who suffer from it take actions they would not otherwise.

Beth Ann’s obituary makes clear that she loved her family and appreciated joys of life: skiing on Mount Tom with her grandfather Poppy, making Slurpees at Bird’s store in Florence as a teenager, driving across the country last summer with her husband. Her death does not invalidate any of those experience. It does not negate that love.

And yet, a suicide can leave those left behind in a fog of confusion and heartache. Since my father’s suicide in 2012, I’ve started to untangle the manner of his death from the complex and life-affirming manner of his life. In his case, suicide was motivated not by depression, but an unwillingness to traverse the terrain of old age and infirmity. That choice was a loss for me and the rest of my family, who wanted to accompany him, possibly help him, as he took that journey. One of the tasks in my grieving these past four years has been to fully accept my powerlessness over a loved one’s choices. That’s a lesson worth getting, since one way or another, it is one we all must confront.

These days, while his violent death is not gone from my mind, other memories increasingly overshadow that fact: his habit of slicing up green apples to pass around for all to share; the way sat in a rocking chair on the porch, scrunched up his eyes to laugh at a joke; how he would have enjoyed the boat ride I took with my brother last week.

Keeping suicide private is a choice many families make for valid reasons. When that tragedy struck my family, we believed hiding it would lead to a profound sense of isolation when what we needed was the comfort of community.

Nothing dulled the sharpness of the grief, but it was a balm to know we were not alone. I hope the LaBerge family’s brave decision to tell the full story of Beth Ann’s death allows them that comfort too. Their decision may help others break free of family secrets too. And one day, that also may offer them solace.

Laurie Loisel

Northampton