Winter Tree Shadow in Snow with Brick Wall
Winter Tree Shadow in Snow

Grief Begins After Losing My Only Child to Suicide

Dying Inside. Holding my breath. Pain on the inhale. Pain in the exhale. Sharp pierce of pain. Heart pain. Constant. Mighty. Rhythmic. The rhythm now of my life, my lifeblood stifled, plugged, narrowed, struggling, constricted by this undertow of grieving.

I’d like to think I’ve made “progress,” though in the end, I’m not sure what this even means. Progress towards what exactly? Learning to live again–altered, twisted beyond anything, anyone I recognize, more open, more raw, more vulnerable, deeply compassionate, growing accustomed to this constant rhythm of ebb and flow of grieving in my life?

It doesn’t go away. Suicide never goes away, never lets go, never the release, never the tapering down, never the stillness of an ocean calmed.

Grief After Losing A Child to Suicide Is Unparalleled

Grief the First Year: Impossible

In the beginning, June 25, 2012, I felt hurled, swept violently out to sea, lost, alone, screaming in jet black darkness, screaming for my child, my son, my only child, Dylan.

A Tsunami, all-encompassing, all-embracing, its open jaws consuming all of my life–my child of 20 years, myself as I’d known her, my relationships with all of my community, my future bright and brimming with hopes and dreams for a son accepted to Ohio University on a full academic scholarship in their Journalism School.

Digital media. Class of 2014. Graduation. His first job. His career launch. A steady girlfriend becoming his be-all, end-all, the settling down–my son gone, my future gone, my past obliterated in violence and a single breath.

Grief the Third Year: Still Hurting

Have I come along? Still, after 3 years and 2 months, I still think of my son every day–always on rising, always in the falling asleep, always in a moment where I pause, always in my errands and outings, always when I see a film, a movie, listen to music, drive my car, prepare my meals, cook foods I cooked that Dylan loved and adored. I still can’t steam broccoli, his favorite vegetable. I love it, but I can’t cook it–there’s just too much pain.

I can smile now, sort of, kind of, for awhile, enough to get by. I know how to turn a conversation away from myself. I know how to bring a smile to others. I’ve learned the art of small talk because it takes the focus off the pain, because this way I don’t let others in to where I’m still raw and bleeding.

A photograph of 5 white lit candles in varying heights with words above from the compassionate friends about child loss
Love Lives Forever

Holidays?

Holidays? I don’t have holidays anymore. They are all loaded and heavy and weighted and belong to a life I will never live again. I have learned to sort of, kind of, move through them, but I find myself playing a game I cannot win. Avoidance, mostly, just sheer, plain avoidance.

Where is Hope and Healing?

My heart has been interminably broken since January 2012, Dylan’s first sucide attempt near my birthday, the first hospital, the first psych ward, the only time I remember hearing him say upon awakening from his overdose, “This is the best day of my life because I’m alive.” I remember his laughing and smiling easily with a high school friend who visited him.

And I remember the sullenness and moodiness, sitting watching Dylan eating ice cream and putting his head down and forward into his hands, pulling at his now chip-chopped hair, tugging, rubbing his hands on his jeans, anxious, nervous, changed, forever changed–I just didn’t know it.

Then one suicide attempt after another in each month thereafter–February, March, April, May, my life now always the reliving of these hell-on-earth months. Broken. Abruptly stopped.

The interruption and disfiguring and disassembling of my life. The stripping away. The barrenness. This life now of chronic pain where I practice mindfulness and radical acceptance and distraction, tons and tons of distraction, just to move through my days.

a glass red heart shape broken into tiny pieces but still pieced together as a heart

Heartbroken-My Forever Son

The Pain Does Change

“To those of you that still feel you aren’t even sure you want to be
here and you can’t imagine ever being happy again. The pain does
change, it softens. You will want to live again and be able to enjoy
life again. It will never be like before but the crushing, all
consuming pain you feel right now will soften. You will be able to
live with it. It just becomes part of you.”

Parent of a Child Who Died by Suicide

Does the Pain Ever End?

Yes. To an extent. And in the beginning of my grief journey in June of 2012, something I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) have believed. And no-because Dylan is my son. My grief now is a bittersweet pain, worse on his birthday, his memorial date, the holidays; more manageable when tucked away and carried in my heart. I grieve the loss of Dylan because I love my son. I always feel his absence.

But yes, Dylan is part of my life still, as is both the love I carry for
him, and the pain I carry missing him. “You will be able to live with it.
It just becomes part of you.”

And Dylan is, was, and forever will be my heart and my love. In 2012, tidal waves crashed constantly over me, plunging me deep into the despair of darkness without light, darkness without possibility of life. Even to breathe seemed impossible and when I did breathe, I simply couldn’t bear the pain. My heart wept. My voice wept. My eyes wept even when I slept.

My son, my love, my pain, my heart-all beating on inside me, an ache I’ve learned to carry which at some point these past 9 years, has become a part of me.

Beth Brown, My Forever Son

Recent Posts

Purple Lilac Cluster in Bloom in Spring

Loving Him Past His Pain

Loving Him Past His Pain October Shadows A gorgeous fall afternoon, early eveningSun slants wideShadows cast and scatter across a stone wall Walked a bit ago to the cul-de-sac and then down to the field, following the sun, finding the sun shadowing me, feeling the sun trailing behind. Warm still, though only 60 and chilly.…

Read More
Heart-shaped display of red roses against a stone wall

Travel On My Brave Soldier-A Poem of Hope

Travel On Travel on my brave soldier Travel on wild one Take heart winged warrior Unencumbered take great strides. Ride dragon’s wings forever Stay free here evermore Follow infinity to the heavens Travel on to safer shores. ©Beth Brown, 2022 First time here? Listen to a Song

Read More
Photo of 2 red rose buds and a red about to bloom

The First Year of Grief After Losing My Son

Instrumental Guitar Music (Written and Performed by Beth Brown, Dylan’s Mom) To those of you that still feel you aren’t even sure you want to be here and you can’t imagine ever being happy again. The pain does change, it softens. You will want to live again and be able to enjoy life again. It…

Read More
Red Rose in June, My Forever Son

Beat Still My Heart: A Poem About Losing My Son to Suicide

Beat Still My Heart Beat Still My Heart Beat still my heart Beat still my mind Weary though thou art, Carry his love along with thine Though heavy on thy shoulders Crost fields throughout all time. In the deepest dark of the bleakest night, if light there be, then dark shuts it out. Around you…

Read More
Photograph of sun, clouds, and sky from an aerial view

“Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep”–Poem and Song

“Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” By Mary Elizabeth Frye I give you this one thought to keep- I am with you still. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sunglight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn…

Read More
Lavendar Heirloom Rose Bush with Glossy Green Leaves

Memorial Day-Echoes that Haunt

Here Comes the 25th Most days, I cannot imagine my life without my son. Perhaps this is why starting my day is so difficult. It isn’t always like this, and after two years and almost 11 months, I am sometimes able to greet my day with gratitude and balance, a centeredness that defies my tragic…

Read More

Loading…

Something went wrong. Please refresh the page and/or try again.

Red Rose in June, My Forever Son

Get new posts delivered to your inbox.

By Beth Brown

Rememberer of dreams. Whisperer of gardens green.
At the whim of "Most Beloved" and a hot cup of tea.
I live life between, straddled here now and then,
My continuity through writing--
Pen dripping ink, mind swirling confused,
Love lingering still, and Most Beloved's purring soothes.

Blogger at "Gardens at Effingham" (where cats do the talking) and "My Forever Son" (where a mother's heart runs deep after losing her son to suicide)
Musician. Writer. Literary Connoisseur.
At the whim of a calico cat and a strong cup of tea.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s