Social media after a death by suicide is a minefield with no map.
Other people's lives are still happening. Holiday photos. Baby announcements. Engagement rings. The scroll of other people's happiness can feel like an assault when your own life is in pieces.
Then there's the question of your own presence. Do you post about the loss? If so, how? Do you say the word "suicide"? If you do, some people will respect it. Others will be horrified. If you don't, you're back to "suddenly" and "unexpectedly" — the euphemisms that protect everyone except you.
There's judgement either way. Post too much and you're "oversharing" or "seeking attention." Post too little and people assume you don't care, or they forget entirely. Post the wrong thing — too raw, too honest, too soon — and you'll watch the silence where the reactions should be.
The comments are their own category. "Rest in peace." "They're in a better place." "Fly high." Well-meaning tributes that can feel hollow or maddening. The person who posts a photo of your person without asking. The acquaintance who makes it about themselves. The absence of any acknowledgement at all from people you expected to show up.
After suicide, there's an additional layer: the fear that the comments section will turn into a discussion about how they died, or why, or what could have been done. The fear that your person will be reduced to their death in a public space.
You get to set your own terms. You can mute people, unfollow accounts, deactivate entirely, take a break and come back, or stay on and curate ruthlessly. You can post about your loss on your terms and your timeline — or never post about it at all. You can ask people not to share photos or details. You can report anything that crosses your line.
Social media is optional. It may not feel that way, but it is. The world will continue without your digital presence, and your grief doesn't need an audience to be real.