When despair takes the form of love
When despair strikes, people often fall into the trap of unconscious selfishness, thinking they know what's best for their child, that their child will suffer more without them. But in reality, that's when they're depriving their child of the right to choose, the right to grow, to stumble, to get back up, and to find their own joy. Maternal and paternal love cannot be distorted by personal pain, turning into irreversible actions.
In recent days, the heartbreaking story of a father and his two young daughters has shocked public opinion. This is not the first time we have heard such haunting stories. Parents, in despair, jump into the cold river with their young children, or choose to end their lives together in the middle of the night. The most agonizing question is not "Why did they do this?", but "What has distorted love in this way?".
It is often said that there is no greater love than a parent's love. Perhaps it's not that they've stopped loving their children, but rather that their love is intertwined with despair, a love so intense that they believe death is the only way out, the only way to "protect" their children from life's suffering? But behind these actions lies a fragile boundary between genuine affection and unconscious selfishness, when despair clouds reason, causing us to forget that true love must give children the right to live, the right to hope.
I think about those fathers and mothers—ordinary people, who must have struggled with debt, family conflicts, marital breakdowns, or the invisible pressures of life. In their darkest moments, they see the world as too harsh, too hopeless for their children to face. They embrace their children, whisper final words of love, and choose to end it all. But is that love? Or is it just fear disguised as sacrifice?
None of us live their lives, so we have no right to judge, but we cannot help but feel distressed when we think of these innocent children, these fragile souls who have not yet had the chance to explore the vast world and its boundless happiness, but have been swept away by the extreme decisions of adults. Love, which should be a guiding light for children, has now become a darkness that devours their future.
That boundary of love is so fragile that it's easily blurred. When despair strikes, people often fall into the trap of unconscious selfishness, thinking they know what's best for their child, that their child will suffer more without them. But in reality, that's when they're depriving their child of the right to choose, the right to grow, to stumble, to get back up, and to find their own joy. Maternal and paternal love cannot be distorted by personal pain, turning into irreversible actions. Do they ever stop and ask themselves: "Does my child want this? Does my child deserve to live on, even without me?"
This made me ponder the responsibilities of parenthood. Love isn't about possession, it's not about taking your child away to escape suffering. It's about the strength to keep living, to seek help, to show your child that life, despite its difficulties, is still worth living. True love is knowing when to let go, knowing when to reach out to friends, family, or support organizations to weather the storm. It's about teaching your child that despair is only momentary, and hope is always ahead. It's about living as an example, so your child sees that even when life pushes you to the brink, you can still choose to get back up, for them, for yourself.
Loving your child isn't just about providing food and education; it's about teaching them how to get back up when they fall. It's about teaching them that suffering isn't the end. It's about accepting that they see their parents' weaknesses, but that they are still striving to live. The greatest love isn't about self-sacrifice, but about not wanting to drag your child down with you, even when you yourself are down. A child, even living in poverty, can grow up and be happy if nurtured with the belief that life is still worth living. But that child will never have that opportunity if adults conclude for them: "There's no place for you in this world." In truth, children don't need perfect parents; they just need parents who don't give up.
Parents need to learn to love responsibly, which requires both knowledge and courage. Knowledge here means understanding mental health, knowing when to seek professional help, and knowing how to use social services instead of hiding their anxieties. Courage means daring to admit their vulnerability, daring to step out of shame to save themselves and their children. Truly strong parents are those who know how to call for help when they can no longer be alone, not those who think they can redeem themselves by ending everything.
Society needs to be stronger in building "safe havens" for the vulnerable. We need more truly effective hotlines, accessible psychologists, and communities that listen rather than condemn or judge. When reporting on sensitive cases, the media and press should carefully consider their language to avoid fostering imitation or portraying despair as a "heroic" act. But above all, everyone around us needs to learn to recognize the signs of despair so they can promptly pull someone back to life. A question, a piece of advice, can sometimes save lives.
Today, if you're feeling tired, hold your child tightly, not to leave, but to find your way back together with hope. Ultimately, love is knowing how to let your child live fully, freely, and with faith in the future. And sometimes, simply choosing to stay is the greatest act of love you can ever have for your child.
