Thanks for another great article, Debby. This helped fill in some gaps about how you and Noah ended up building a canoe during COVID, etc! Happy to hear that he's doing so well and is leading a healthy life. Mental health is no different from our physical health. We need to be vigilant with both!!
Showing us your relationship with Noah now in the kitchen making potato pancakes gave me the emotional satisfaction of a resolution to a mother's fears for her son. The detail about getting B grades was a sign. I did wonder about you, in the end. To bring this full circle, how did this change you and your understanding of your father's death. As a reader, I've enjoyed this intergenerational aspect to the story and wanted you to pull that thread to the end. I look forward to reading more of your essays.
Thanks for asking that good question, Jill. I was thinking about including that and then I realized I need to think it through more thoroughly. For a few years, I convinced myself that I was determined to "save Noah" because I could not save my father. When I looked at that essay yesterday — because I've written about it — I thought, "You're giving yourself a little too much credit, Debby."
I didn't try to "save" Noah, certainly not at first. In fact, I was so terrified when he came to me in January 2018 and said that he was depressed that I did what I had when I'd heard my parents fighting the night before my father disappeared in 1974: I told myself it wasn't that big of a deal — although in Noah's case, I did try to get help for him. But I definitely didn't follow up the way I should have, and I'm pretty sure I didn't even tell Dave, and that was a massive error on my part.
It wasn't until he went back into the hospital the second time that I became far more proactive. But it wasn't until December of 2018 that I began to understand the ways in which my behavior surrounding Noah's illness had been impacted by what happened with Dad. In late November, Noah and a friend were hanging around the kitchen while I was making dinner, and he mentioned that they'd gotten an email that week from an engineering dean saying that an engineering student had died by suicide that semester. His friend said it was the second suicide in engineering that semester. I had to stop and compose myself — I remember hugging Noah and starting to cry and saying, "That could have been you," and he let me hug him.
A few weeks later, I saw the dean of engineering — I've known him since his son and Noah were in preschool. We started out chatting about nothing in particular and then I brought up the suicides. I said it must have been a hard semester, with two students dying that way, and he said, "Actually, it was three." That was a shock. He said that two of the students were friends, so one of the suicides was considered a copycat. And then he said that the mother of the first friend told him that she'd always believed her son was going to die by suicide, that it wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when, and I said, "That would have been unacceptable to me. There was no way I was going to let Noah kill himself.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I was horrified at how arrogant and insensitive and full of hubris I sounded. All the way home I kept thinking, "What is the matter with you? Where did that come from? Whatever possessed you to say that?" and then it hit me: It was Dad's death that was unacceptable. Noah's death would have been — which is why, when I finally woke up to how seriously ill he was, I metaphorically grabbed ahold of him and refused to let him go. (which is not to take all the credit — Elizabeth was the first strong one. Dave likely would have been had I clued him in sooner. And we had great family and friends and eventually very helpful medical professionals and everyone worked together.)
I've told people it's not often you get a second chance to save someone you love from dying by suicide and really, literally, I don't think you can say I did get a second chance, because I didn't even know my father was ill. But my mother did, and she tried to save him, and she failed and she never forgave herself. She was my role model — not always in the best ways, but I learned from her.
Well — look at that, Jill. I have a whole other essay there. But I'm going to save it for the book I want to write. Serializing on Substack has given me a better sense of how I want to structure that project.
Yes, look at that. I think those insights are important and a few more scenes ready to be written. Good look with your manuscript revisions. All the best in 2026!
Every latke was full of happiness. Your story is proof that the Noahs of the world, and those who love them, can find peace and purpose. Just not quickly.
A happy ending. It was lovely to see him the other day, doing so well.
You have given many families hope. Thank you.
Thanks. This series has been an experience for me that I won't forget.
Thank you for being such a loyal reader. That means so much to me.
I enjoyed reading this article . So glad it had a good ending !❤️
Thank you!!
Thanks for another great article, Debby. This helped fill in some gaps about how you and Noah ended up building a canoe during COVID, etc! Happy to hear that he's doing so well and is leading a healthy life. Mental health is no different from our physical health. We need to be vigilant with both!!
Such a positive ending for your story. So glad for you and your family. May you continue to go from strength to strength.
So thrilled Noah's and your story have a happy ending.
I will continue to support you through Substack.
Im so proud to say I grew up in Utica,NY with you.
Blessings for a wonderful Hanukkah.🕎🕎🕎
Oh, Diane, thank you so much for that support!
Happy Hannukah to you, too!
Beautiful “end.” Thank you for sharing your beautifully honest story. What a journey. Looking forward to the next chapter(s)❣️! xx
Thank you for reading — and for staying with it.
Showing us your relationship with Noah now in the kitchen making potato pancakes gave me the emotional satisfaction of a resolution to a mother's fears for her son. The detail about getting B grades was a sign. I did wonder about you, in the end. To bring this full circle, how did this change you and your understanding of your father's death. As a reader, I've enjoyed this intergenerational aspect to the story and wanted you to pull that thread to the end. I look forward to reading more of your essays.
Thanks for asking that good question, Jill. I was thinking about including that and then I realized I need to think it through more thoroughly. For a few years, I convinced myself that I was determined to "save Noah" because I could not save my father. When I looked at that essay yesterday — because I've written about it — I thought, "You're giving yourself a little too much credit, Debby."
I didn't try to "save" Noah, certainly not at first. In fact, I was so terrified when he came to me in January 2018 and said that he was depressed that I did what I had when I'd heard my parents fighting the night before my father disappeared in 1974: I told myself it wasn't that big of a deal — although in Noah's case, I did try to get help for him. But I definitely didn't follow up the way I should have, and I'm pretty sure I didn't even tell Dave, and that was a massive error on my part.
It wasn't until he went back into the hospital the second time that I became far more proactive. But it wasn't until December of 2018 that I began to understand the ways in which my behavior surrounding Noah's illness had been impacted by what happened with Dad. In late November, Noah and a friend were hanging around the kitchen while I was making dinner, and he mentioned that they'd gotten an email that week from an engineering dean saying that an engineering student had died by suicide that semester. His friend said it was the second suicide in engineering that semester. I had to stop and compose myself — I remember hugging Noah and starting to cry and saying, "That could have been you," and he let me hug him.
A few weeks later, I saw the dean of engineering — I've known him since his son and Noah were in preschool. We started out chatting about nothing in particular and then I brought up the suicides. I said it must have been a hard semester, with two students dying that way, and he said, "Actually, it was three." That was a shock. He said that two of the students were friends, so one of the suicides was considered a copycat. And then he said that the mother of the first friend told him that she'd always believed her son was going to die by suicide, that it wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when, and I said, "That would have been unacceptable to me. There was no way I was going to let Noah kill himself.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I was horrified at how arrogant and insensitive and full of hubris I sounded. All the way home I kept thinking, "What is the matter with you? Where did that come from? Whatever possessed you to say that?" and then it hit me: It was Dad's death that was unacceptable. Noah's death would have been — which is why, when I finally woke up to how seriously ill he was, I metaphorically grabbed ahold of him and refused to let him go. (which is not to take all the credit — Elizabeth was the first strong one. Dave likely would have been had I clued him in sooner. And we had great family and friends and eventually very helpful medical professionals and everyone worked together.)
I've told people it's not often you get a second chance to save someone you love from dying by suicide and really, literally, I don't think you can say I did get a second chance, because I didn't even know my father was ill. But my mother did, and she tried to save him, and she failed and she never forgave herself. She was my role model — not always in the best ways, but I learned from her.
Well — look at that, Jill. I have a whole other essay there. But I'm going to save it for the book I want to write. Serializing on Substack has given me a better sense of how I want to structure that project.
Yes, look at that. I think those insights are important and a few more scenes ready to be written. Good look with your manuscript revisions. All the best in 2026!
Thanks, Jill!
Every latke was full of happiness. Your story is proof that the Noahs of the world, and those who love them, can find peace and purpose. Just not quickly.
Thank you, my griend. 😊