“Before you take your life, tell Papy.” It is a forceful sentence that, outside our family story, can sound abrupt. For me, it held a particular wish: that my son would know he could turn to me even with his most frightening thought, without hiding it out of shame or fear of my reaction.
When he was so small that he had only just begun to speak, I sometimes read him news from the papers. Serious news too: accidents, tragedies, stories of children and young people who had lost their lives. Perhaps I was trying to make him aware of the dangers in the world. It was my attempt to protect him through words.
Recalling it today does not mean recommending distressing news as a way of teaching very young children. At that age, we need to choose carefully what to say and how to say it, without handing a child the full weight of an adult’s fear. What I most want to keep from that memory is what I was trying to communicate: if something frightens you, you can come to me.
When I read about a young person who had died by suicide, I would say: “Do you know what mistake he made? He should have told Papy first.” Then I would act out the words he might have said when he met his father: “Dad, I want to take my life.” In my Italian telling, the phrase was “Papà, mi voglio suicidà”.
That sentence belonged to my example. It was not something my son had confided in me. It was my direct, familiar way of giving a voice even to what seemed impossible to say.
What I wanted “first” to mean
Looking back, the words “the mistake he made” need a clarification. A newspaper report could not tell me that young person’s pain, his attempts to seek help or his family’s story. I cannot know whether he had spoken, to whom, or what had happened afterwards. It would be unfair to turn my comment into a judgement on him or his parents.
The meaning I want to preserve was meant for the child beside me: even a thought like this can be shared with someone. You do not have to carry it alone.
“First” was an invitation to seek help straight away, not to ask permission or delay emergency help while trying to find me. I wanted there to be a real possibility between fear and silence: a phone call, a knock on the door, a meeting. Beginning a conversation without knowing how to finish it.
You do not have to protect me from your pain
A child may fear many things while searching for words: disappointing someone, being scolded, being told they are exaggerating. They may even keep quiet to avoid worrying the people they love.
I would like to say: you do not have to make your pain smaller for me to listen. You do not need a tidy explanation, proof that you have enough reasons, or a clear understanding of what is happening to you. You can begin with “I am not okay.” You can tell me “My thoughts frighten me.” You can even arrive with a silence you cannot yet put into words.
I would not want to respond by reminding you of all the good things you have, as though gratitude were a test you must pass before being allowed to suffer. Nor would I want to ask you to think of the pain you might cause me. At that moment, I want to care for you, not ask you to look after my fear.
Your place beside me does not depend on your being well.
Trust is built long before that moment
Saying “You can tell me anything” is easy. The demanding part begins when someone actually speaks and tells us something we did not want to hear.
That is why the sentence placed a responsibility on me too. A father who asks for trust must consider how he listens on ordinary days. What does he do about a poor mark at school, a fear, a confessed lie, a mistake? Does he let the story finish? Does he use a confidence to humiliate his child during an argument? Does he make his affection feel at risk whenever something goes wrong?
We do not need to be parents who never make mistakes. We also need to be able to return to a conversation and say: “I responded badly earlier. Now I would like to listen.” A sincere apology can say more than many declarations about trust.
I would like Papy to be someone my children do not have to defend themselves against. Someone who can distinguish the wish to understand from the rush to correct. Someone who does not confuse being a father with always having an answer ready.
The promise a father can make
I cannot promise to understand everything immediately. I might become frightened, struggle to find the right words, need help myself. I do not want to give my children the image of an all-powerful father, because they might then think that seeking help elsewhere would disappoint him.
The promise I would like to make is more concrete: to take you seriously. To listen to what you can say. To stay beside you and seek skilled help together, including when my own answers are not enough. For me, involving a doctor or a mental health professional would be a way of caring for you, not of handing off a problem.
If asking for help were necessary to protect you, I would not want to hide behind a promise to keep everything secret. I would try to explain what I was doing and why, with respect for you. The trust I want is not a pact for the two of us to remain alone with something we do not know how to handle.
Papy must not be the only possibility
That name belongs to our family, but what I want it to stand for is larger. If one day you cannot reach me, or I am not the person you can talk to at that moment, turn to someone else. Mum, another trusted person, a safe adult, a professional. Asking them for help takes nothing away from me.
And someone reading these words may not have a father who is present or a family where they feel safe. The right to be heard does not depend on the good fortune of having a welcoming home. “Tell Papy” must also be able to mean: find a safe person to tell, without waiting specifically for me.
If the first person does not understand, your pain does not become less important. You deserve to be heard even when someone does not know how to listen: try contacting another person or a support service.
What I would like my children to remember
My children, I would not want only the provocative sound of this sentence to remain. I would like you to remember the willingness to be there that I was trying to express, together with my responsibility to make it real through my behaviour.
You can turn to me even when you fear I will not understand. You can tell me something difficult without softening it to protect me. You do not have to reach a breaking point: I would like to be there for the worries that still seem small as well.
And when you are the ones listening, try to make room for another person’s words without immediately turning them into a lesson. Perhaps you will not know what to say. You can begin with something simple and sincere: “I am listening. Let us find help together.”
That, at heart, was what I was trying to say with “Tell Papy first”.
You do not need to know how to get better before asking me to stay beside you. You can begin like this: “Papy, I need help.”
If you need help now
If you fear you may harm yourself immediately, call 112 in Italy and the EU or go to an emergency department; elsewhere, contact your local emergency number. Seek a trusted person who can stay with you, without waiting to reach your father specifically. This guidance follows WHO recommendations; 112 is the European emergency number.
In Italy, you can also contact Telefono Amico Italia: 02 2327 2327 to talk to someone. Check its official contact page for availability and ways to reach the service. It does not replace emergency services in an immediate crisis. This page is a personal reflection, not a support service.