It's been two years since Zach died—March 26. We found him on March 27.
Post-fact I've become somewhat of an expert on suicide. Information that would have come in damn good handy while he was still alive. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.
In the time since, I’ve read and watched more about suicide than I ever imagined—academic lectures and talks on YouTube, research papers, articles, reddit forums. I listened to a podcast episode with Melissa Rivers talking about losing her dad, Joan Rivers' husband, to suicide. I joined a monthly zoom chat for women who were suicide loss survivors. That in itself was a lesson in humanity—there are many broken people out there and they're not afraid to buck polite society. I left the group after one too many sessions of participants breaking down, sobbing over the untimely deaths of their uncle, niece, son-in-law, or an online friend they'd never met in person. I'd lost my beloved partner -- it felt different -- and I didn't have the emotional bandwidth for such pile on.
Part of my healing process around Zach's death was to search for explanations as to why someone so intelligent and learned would willingly do this to himself. I was looking for patterns, clues, intel that might help me understand what drove him to see ending his life as the solution. As I've heard it said, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Becoming 'intellectual' about it, gave me an anchor to the pain—this was a puzzle to be solved. I needed to learn as much as I could about suicide, its triggers and warning signs, to help me work my way through the overbearing reality that he wasn't coming back. Lady Macbeth says, “What’s done is done and cannot be undone.”
Many of the facts I learned were parallel to Zach’s story.
It’s often said—something I learned through American academic psychologist and leading expert on suicide, Dr. Thomas Joiner’s work—that around 90% of people who die by suicide have a diagnosed or diagnosable mental health condition. Zach had been diagnosed with OCD at 24 years old. His condition was managed with a therapist who specialized in OCD cases, and Prozac. While Zach continued therapy, he just suddenly stopped taking Prozac one day, about six months before he died. This in my view, precipitated his fast descent into paranoia and delusion.
Alcohol is another factor that shows up frequently in research—used, often, as a way to numb or quiet an anxious mind. I learned more about this through Joiner’s lectures which were available on YouTube, and I even arranged a call with Dr. Joiner to talk about Zach's suicide, which he graciously made time for (as did some others.)
Zach was prone to drink in excess. He even penned a short story, called 'Another Glass', about a lawyer who had a propensity to day drink amidst his lawyering. It's really rather wonderful, and though readers would assume the protagonist is autobiographical, he claims it wasn't. As part of the OCD, Zach had high anxiety. Alcohol generally worked to pacify his racing thoughts, but many people were concerned about the extent of his drinking. In the end, he was concerned too—he believed it might always have a grip on him. Another thing he fretted over, and no doubt something that fed the belief that death was the only release.
Towards the end, during our vacation in Hawaii in December 2023, Zach would start the mornings with a beer or two while I went off to buy a coffee. He was a mental mess on that last vacation. It was during this time that I saw him act out violently towards himself. After receiving distressing but fixable news about his mother’s care, he spiraled. He got down on his knees and began banging his head hard against the floor. I was aghast. The floor was just a thin layer of carpet over concrete.
“What are you doing?” I said, incredulous.
It was one of a handful of times I'd seen him act out from feeling sheer terror. This latest episode of self sabotage sent shockwaves through me.
Zach was crippled by his life situation—losing his father to Parkinson’s disease in October 2022, and being thrust into the role of caring for his ailing mother who had Parkinson's dementia, while overseeing the affairs of a considerable family trust. The weight of it all was immense.
And yet—what is also true —is that many people who struggle with alcohol are completely sober at the moment they take their life. I ordered Zach’s report from the coroner's office. I also spoke directly with both the medical examiner and the coroner —the latter confirming there was no alcohol present. His blood alcohol level was zero. Dr. Joiner has theories on why this is—longterm problem drinkers who are sober at the time they end their lives—it's for pragmatic reasons best not shared for the faint-hearted.
In the United States, over 49,000 people die by suicide each year, making it one of the leading causes of death. Men account for nearly 80% of those deaths, with particularly high rates among men under 35. Zach was 34. Globally, suicide accounts for roughly 1 in every 100 deaths. There are myriad factors that can converge—mental health, substance use, acute anxiety, grief, responsibility—and yet even knowing all of this, suicide is difficult to predict in any one individual.
I learned these things too late.
I share them now in the off chance that my learning might help someone else—whether that’s recognizing patterns, asking one more question, or simply taking something seriously that might otherwise be brushed aside.
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were as easy as, “Don’t do it,” to stop someone from taking their own life?
My friend and former neighbor Harrington and I did exactly that—two days before Zach died.
A friend in Melbourne had called me to tell me that someone in our extended circle had taken his own life. When she shared the news, I felt a sense of dread—like it wouldn’t be long before my own world was touched in the same way.
I told Zach. I said, “Look at the destruction. Look at the despair. Look at how devastated people are hearing this news. You won’t do that, will you? You can’t—too many people love you.”
Harrington and I told him how important his life was, how much he mattered.
“Yes, yes,” Zach said. “No, I won’t do that…”
And still, we lost him.
Sometimes love, logic, and pleading are not enough to override what someone is experiencing internally and believe to be true. It's also common for suicidal people to oscillate between wanting to live and wanting to die. He'd said to me on previous occasions about me, and his friends -- "You/they helped save a life." (his life) And that he had come to see, "Suicide is not an option." -- Yet here we are.
Suicide is brutal. It's raw. It’s harrowing and suicidal ideation is insistent it's completed. Sadly suicide has been with us for as long as humanity itself. In biblical accounts, Judas is described as having died by hanging. But one can't guarantee death is the end to one's existence. Zach himself wrestled with what would/could happen once he'd died, sharing his thoughts on the 'Suicide Watch' Reddit forum (which he one day out of the blue confessed he'd been reading). I once heard a story about a Buddhist monk who took his own life, and when another monk sought guidance, the master said: right about now, he’s learning that death is no escape.
What I know now is this:
If someone shares suicidal thoughts—if they say they intend to harm themselves (Zach did), or even hint at it—take them at their word. Take it seriously.
Engage professional help immediately. I didn’t have legal standing, and his mother was not mentally equipped to intervene. It's a tragedy his dad was no longer around, as Zach's parents had experienced this with him before, 10 years before suicide took hold. And they took emergency action. If I had my chance again, I would have pushed his therapist harder to get him back on Prozac -- and pressed his cousin (Zach's next of kin, given his mother was medically incapacitated) to exert her legal rights around his medical care.
Do not hope it will pass on its own. Suicidal ideation takes hold in a way that barrels towards tragedy fast. As I look back, it informs death is imminent. Treating people this unwell requires sustained, professional intervention.
Family and friends, it turns out, are not always enough.
But we're the ones left behind...and one by one we pick up the pieces from the 'wreckage' of death.
All I can do now is miss him, remember him, rejoice in the blessings he brought into my life, and so many others -- and go on loving him.
RIP Zachary James Ritter.
Obit: https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/glendale-ca/zachary-ritter-11749247
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