My brother killed himself about four years ago. As you might imagine, that fact doesn't make for very pleasant dinner conversation.
Death is rarely an uplifting topic, but it is a universal one. Usually people talk about it, or at least acknowledge it. If someone dies of a heart attack, for example, people offer their condolences or a loving gesture.
Once you introduce the word 'suicide', however, people get uncomfortable. They look away. Change the topic.
Such was the case with my brother. After his death, many people didn't want to talk about it. Perhaps they didn't know how. Regardless, because I represented this thing that could not be discussed, I, myself, became the elephant in the room, alone and isolated.
But I refused to feel ashamed. Because my brother did nothing wrong. He was sick-mentally and emotionally. He suffered for years as mental illness ravaged him. And when faced with his greatest life crisis, suicide was the only option he saw.