This comment feels heartless.
The act of growing up is fundamentally one of rebellion, of doing things one is not supposed to do, of running away from the nest and being pushed away from it. While the expectation of privacy is something that varies dramatically across the world, I am doubtful that there is any culture where parents know everything their children are up to. The internet has amplified the availability of this privacy. As a closeted transwoman, I am grateful for the opportunities this has given me, of being able to find solidarity, but still keep it as one of my deepest secrets. But... I am also thankful for having grown up just before the internet turned into a vast, self-amplifying panopticon.
In the pre-internet world, there was more human mediation in information consumption: one consulted libraries which were staffed by human librarians, who could distinguish access to books about self-harm from books about self-help, one read magazines delivered home by mail, which would presumably have been easier for parents to monitor, or one would socialize with friends, in the physical world, who presumably had a greater interest in your well-being, so that empathy and other human judgments could best help people in need.
In today's world, with ready access to information, anonymously to one's physical circle of family and friends, but entirely publicly to the vast tracking network of automatic recommendation systems, there is no such ready access to help. The systems serving information are essentially paperclip maximizers, providing access to articles and links that maximize their narrow-minded objective functions. Which leads to sub-optimal social outcomes.
Of course the algorithm is doing exactly what it was designed to do. But what it was designed to do is not what we really want it to do, as a human species, with complex, empathetic, and altruistic objectives. On a final sidenote, conveying emotions online is very tricky, but we are talking about a family who has just lost their daughter. Her parents are almost certainly devastated, questioning every little act of theirs. It would be nice to exercise restraint and temper one's comments.