This piece is slower and quieter, because suicide loss is its own country. The grief comes braided with questions no other loss asks - and the questions loop. Why. What did I miss. What if I'd called, noticed, said something different, been there. The loop feels like it's owed an answer. It has none to give.
Say this part out loud if it helps, because it's true: you did not cause this. Suicide is the end of a pain that had its own engine - one that was working on the person you love in places even they couldn't fully show. Love, even enormous, attentive, daily love, cannot always reach it. The guilt that says otherwise is grief looking for control after the fact. It lies.
This grief is lonelier than most. People don't know what to say, so they say nothing, or worse. You get to protect yourself: you owe nobody the details, the explanation, or the word itself unless you choose it. "He died" is a complete sentence.
Find the others. Suicide-loss grievers recognize each other with a kind of relief that's hard to describe - the circles here exist partly for that. And if your own nights ever turn the dark question toward yourself, that is a today thing, not a someday thing: the support page has humans at every hour, and telling one of them is the bravest, most ordinary move there is.