close up on rain drops on a window, My Forever Son
When Grief Comes to Stay, My Forever Son

When you lose your child, 
there is nothingness, 
the descent into the abyss 
of losing not just your child, 
but also yourself

Beth, Dylan’s Mom, My Forever Son

Grief is Unfinished

Others can come alongside us for awhile, but our journey into the deep, dark night must be our own. Here, we rally against the darkness, awaken our soul’s deep slumber of the “normalcy” of everyday life, and do fierce battle with an enemy unseen. Grief torments, ruminates, is recursive and in the end, in my losing my son to suicide, unfinished.

My son is a warrior son, and I, by default and through journeying my soul’s dark night in grieving losing Dylan to suicide, am a warrior mama. I live that my son lives too.

One day, there will be reconciling and resolution, but it is I who must learn to walk unfinished here, finding, once again, love, meaning, and purpose in the walking out of my life’s journey.

Walking with Grief

I walk with grief. I carry the weight of bearing deep sorrow in my soul. I am a survivor of suicide loss. No matter how “good” things get, no matter the profundity of my joy and happiness here-as is, as now, I will always be tinged and laced with the bittersweet. 

But Grief is a Walk alone photo of woman from behind walking down long road.
But Grief is a Walk Alone, My Forever Son

I’m missing you
I’m missing you
I’m missing you
I’m missing you…

Daddy Cat, a large tabby cat, photographed in snow, My Forever Son
Daddy Cat in Snow, My Forever Son

If you could have just held onto hope, Dylan–


sigh. . .


always
missing
and
always
loving
and
always
adoring
you
just
because
you’re
you

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Art Sketch of a tree with downward dipping branches. Dark and light shades represent sadness, loneliness, and empty arms of grief. 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…

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Red Rose in June

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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.

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