“Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay”

“Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay” Poem

Summary

“Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay” by Beth Brown explores the profound connection between love and grief following the loss of her son to suicide. The poem emphasizes the author’s refusal to change her narrative of grief, asserting her right to feel deeply and affirming that her love and grief are inseparable. Through vivid imagery and personal reflections, “the poem “Shaped by Love–And This Grief Come to Stay” captures the complex emotions and transformations that arise from such profound loss.

“Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay”

Suicide loss and bereaved-parent grief.

The seasons keep teaching me this:
bare is not the same as empty.

In winter, the work is hidden—
life held close under bark,
sap still moving in its own time,
strength stored where no one applauds it.

Grief can be like that.
Not solved.
Not “fixed.”
Just carried—quietly, fiercely—
until you learn how to live with what will not leave.

This post is for any parent who has been asked
to rewrite the story of their child’s death
to make it easier for others to hold.

And it’s for anyone who wants to love a bereaved parent well—
without asking them to hurry.

The seasons keep teaching me this:
bare is not the same as empty.

In winter, the work is hidden—
life held close under bark,
sap still moving in its own time,
strength stored where no one applauds it.

Grief can be like that.
Not solved.
Not “fixed.”
Just carried—quietly, fiercely—
until you learn how to live with what will not leave.

This post is for any parent who has been asked
to rewrite the story of their child’s death
to make it easier for others to hold.

And it’s for anyone who wants to love a bereaved parent well—
without asking them to hurry.

If you are here because your child died by suicide—
come closer.

You may be holding shock
like a stone in the pocket of your day.
You may be living inside questions
that keep their own weather.

There is guilt that arrives uninvited.
There is anger—sudden, then gone.
There is a loneliness
that makes even familiar rooms feel far away.

This reflection on “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay”
is not a map out.
It is a small place to sit.
A bit of shade.
A bench beside the trail.

And if you love a bereaved parent
and you’re searching for how to help—
you belong here, too.

If you are here because your child died by suicide—
come closer.

You may be holding shock
like a stone in the pocket of your day.
You may be living inside questions
that keep their own weather.

There is guilt that arrives uninvited.
There is anger—sudden, then gone.
There is a loneliness
that makes even familiar rooms feel far away.

This reflection on “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay”
is not a map out.
It is a small place to sit.
A bit of shade.
A bench beside the trail.

And if you love a bereaved parent
and you’re searching for how to help—
you belong here, too.

Still from sky I’m falling,
Your name calling my way down,

Still from sky I’m falling,
Your name calling my way down,

I wrote “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay” eleven years into my grief—after people kept urging me to “change my narrative,” as if a different set of words could make me feel better.

I have never felt better about losing my son to suicide.

But I have learned how to live forward through the ferocity of it—how to find a life I can live with, this side of seeing my son again.

I wrote “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay” eleven years into my grief—after people kept urging me to “change my narrative,” as if a different set of words could make me feel better.

I have never felt better about losing my son to suicide.

But I have learned how to live forward through the ferocity of it—how to find a life I can live with, this side of seeing my son again.

A note before the poem

People used to tell me—often, and with good intentions—
to “change my narrative.”

But love and grief are not two separate stories for me.
They are one.
Forged together.

I am shaped by my love for my son,
and I am shaped by the grief that came when he died by suicide.
I can’t untangle one without tearing the other.

So this poem isn’t a lesson in “moving on.”
It’s an insistence:
my love gets to stay.
my grief gets to stay.

And if you are a parent reading this—
please hear me.
Hold your child’s story the way your heart tells the truth.
It doesn’t change facts.
But it protects what matters most:
the wholeness of who they were.

For me, breaking stigma has meant saying it plainly:
my son died of depression,
and my son died by suicide.

Those words do not erase him.
They place the ending where it belongs—
at the edge of a much larger life.

People used to tell me—often, and with good intentions—
to “change my narrative.”

But love and grief are not two separate stories for me.
They are one.
Forged together.

I am shaped by my love for my son,
and I am shaped by the grief that came when he died by suicide.
I can’t untangle one without tearing the other.

So this poem isn’t a lesson in “moving on.”
It’s an insistence:
my love gets to stay.
my grief gets to stay.

And if you are a parent reading this—
please hear me.
Hold your child’s story the way your heart tells the truth.
It doesn’t change facts.
But it protects what matters most:
the wholeness of who they were.

For me, breaking stigma has meant saying it plainly:
my son died of depression,
and my son died by suicide.

Those words do not erase him.
They place the ending where it belongs—
at the edge of a much larger life.

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay” (©Beth Brown, 2024)

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay” (©Beth Brown, 2024)

Poem: “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay”

Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay

His Narrative Just Started. Only a few chapters in.

A promising start.
Having left so much
Unsaid, unwritten.
His chasm, your darkness.
His absence, dark ache your heart.

Listen to Your Narrative

It isn't wrong, this narrative of yours.
Isn't something to be fixed.
Adjusted.
Changed.
Rewritten.

You'd Rewrite Your Narrative If You Could

God knows you'd rewrite your narrative if you could.
Consider the whole thing a tumultuous, torrid first draft.

A rough sketch ill-constructed.
Not giving words, shapes, ideas,
Even context, enough thought,
The consequence lacking intention.

A hapless quick free-write
In the middle of the night. Rushed.
Out of character, both for him and for you.

“It just isn't right,” say some.

“Maybe it wasn't suicide,” say others.

“Didn't that happen a long time ago?” asks your friend.

“He wouldn't want to see you so sad,” says your community.

“Just pretend he's studying abroad— in France, maybe, or England!”
—says a friend, always looking for a happy ending.

So Much Pressure to Revise Your Narrative

Erase the version of the narrative you've lived.
Revise. Rewrite. Omit. Delete.

Change your life's story, the way everything changed
That day he ended his own.

His narrative just started.
Only a few chapters in.
A promising start.

As If You Could Live Past the Pain

As if you could live past the pain
And not feel the whole of you disappearing
In your life's tragic moment.
Its fatal eclipse your narrative, forever changed.

Shaped By Grief: Then, Now, and Ongoing

But what if, instead, that someone—or others, (or even you)—

Wants to hear your narrative?
How your life in all ways —
Emotional, physical, mental, intellectual—
Is shaped by your grief:
Then, now, and ongoing.

And what if someone, somewhere, (even you)
Does not ask you
To change your narrative?

What Would Happen If They (Or Even You) Sit With Your Grief?

Hear the song your heart sings,
Even if melancholic and haunting?
Listen to Your Story, even tragic,
Even with chapters that do not end well.

Chapters needing to be rewritten,
But that cannot be.
Chapters that have changed
The trajectory of your life.

The chapter that day he plunged,
In medias res,
Changing all that you are.
All that you were.
All that you will be.

For to Lose Your Narrative is to Lose Him All Over Again

For to lose your narrative is to lose him all over again.
All. Over. Again.
As if you haven't lost him enough
These minutes; hours; days; months; years;
10 now—and counting.

As much now as then,
When abruptly,
Everything about your narrative changed
And you started chasing minutes, hours, days,
Months, years.
As if you could bring them back—
Restore all the time before that date:
That time, that month, that year.

Ending His Narrative Meant Ending Your Own

That date where ending his narrative
Meant ending your own.
Your story, your narrative, in medias res:
Changed forever because love (and grief)
cannot be separated.

Love (and grief) have a way of changing us forever;
A new permanence come to stay
Where once we thought ourselves immutable.

Shaped By Love--And This Grief Come to Stay

Shaped by love (19 years and not knowing I was counting),
I am now shaped by this grief
Come to stay.

A permanence in love's shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.


©Beth Brown, 2024, “Shaped By Love--and This Grief Come to Stay”




To read more poems on grief and healing, go here: Finding Hope After Losing a Child: Poetry and Healing 

Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay

His Narrative Just Started. Only a few chapters in.

A promising start.
Having left so much
Unsaid, unwritten.
His chasm, your darkness.
His absence, dark ache your heart.

Listen to Your Narrative

It isn't wrong, this narrative of yours.
Isn't something to be fixed.
Adjusted.
Changed.
Rewritten.

You'd Rewrite Your Narrative If You Could

God knows you'd rewrite your narrative if you could.
Consider the whole thing a tumultuous, torrid first draft.

A rough sketch ill-constructed.
Not giving words, shapes, ideas,
Even context, enough thought,
The consequence lacking intention.

A hapless quick free-write
In the middle of the night. Rushed.
Out of character, both for him and for you.

“It just isn't right,” say some.

“Maybe it wasn't suicide,” say others.

“Didn't that happen a long time ago?” asks your friend.

“He wouldn't want to see you so sad,” says your community.

“Just pretend he's studying abroad— in France, maybe, or England!”
—says a friend, always looking for a happy ending.

So Much Pressure to Revise Your Narrative

Erase the version of the narrative you've lived.
Revise. Rewrite. Omit. Delete.

Change your life's story, the way everything changed
That day he ended his own.

His narrative just started.
Only a few chapters in.
A promising start.

As If You Could Live Past the Pain

As if you could live past the pain
And not feel the whole of you disappearing
In your life's tragic moment.
Its fatal eclipse your narrative, forever changed.

Shaped By Grief: Then, Now, and Ongoing

But what if, instead, that someone—or others, (or even you)—

Wants to hear your narrative?
How your life in all ways —
Emotional, physical, mental, intellectual—
Is shaped by your grief:
Then, now, and ongoing.

And what if someone, somewhere, (even you)
Does not ask you
To change your narrative?

What Would Happen If They (Or Even You) Sit With Your Grief?

Hear the song your heart sings,
Even if melancholic and haunting?
Listen to Your Story, even tragic,
Even with chapters that do not end well.

Chapters needing to be rewritten,
But that cannot be.
Chapters that have changed
The trajectory of your life.

The chapter that day he plunged,
In medias res,
Changing all that you are.
All that you were.
All that you will be.

For to Lose Your Narrative is to Lose Him All Over Again

For to lose your narrative is to lose him all over again.
All. Over. Again.
As if you haven't lost him enough
These minutes; hours; days; months; years;
10 now—and counting.

As much now as then,
When abruptly,
Everything about your narrative changed
And you started chasing minutes, hours, days,
Months, years.
As if you could bring them back—
Restore all the time before that date:
That time, that month, that year.

Ending His Narrative Meant Ending Your Own

That date where ending his narrative
Meant ending your own.
Your story, your narrative, in medias res:
Changed forever because love (and grief)
cannot be separated.

Love (and grief) have a way of changing us forever;
A new permanence come to stay
Where once we thought ourselves immutable.

Shaped By Love--And This Grief Come to Stay

Shaped by love (19 years and not knowing I was counting),
I am now shaped by this grief
Come to stay.

A permanence in love's shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.


©Beth Brown, 2024, “Shaped By Love--and This Grief Come to Stay”




To read more poems on grief and healing, go here: Finding Hope After Losing a Child: Poetry and Healing 

What this poem holds

In “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay,”
the words do what winter does—
they make space.

Space for love that does not stop
because a heartbeat did.

Space for grief that returns
in its own seasons:
ice-thin mornings,
flooded afternoons,
the sudden thaw of a memory.

This is not here to explain your child.
Not to sand down the sharp parts.
Not to make the unthinkable reasonable.

It is here to tell the truth:
what you carry is real.
And you should not have to carry it alone.

In “Shaped by Love—And This Grief Come to Stay,”
the words do what winter does—
they make space.

Space for love that does not stop
because a heartbeat did.

Space for grief that returns
in its own seasons:
ice-thin mornings,
flooded afternoons,
the sudden thaw of a memory.

This is not here to explain your child.
Not to sand down the sharp parts.
Not to make the unthinkable reasonable.

It is here to tell the truth:
what you carry is real.
And you should not have to carry it alone.

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay”

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay”

If this poem feels difficult to navigate, you’re not imagining it.

Some poems are lanterns.
Some are weather.
This one is weather.

Read it the way you read a season:
without demanding it turn into something easier.

Let it name what you already know:
love that stays,
grief that stays,
and a child whose life is bigger than one ending.

If this poem feels difficult to navigate, you’re not imagining it.

Some poems are lanterns.
Some are weather.
This one is weather.

Read it the way you read a season:
without demanding it turn into something easier.

Let it name what you already know:
love that stays,
grief that stays,
and a child whose life is bigger than one ending.

I did not “let go” of my grief by shrinking it.
I released what was destroying me—self-blame, the endless trial in my own mind—by holding true to my son’s narrative.

His suicide does not define his life,
though it does bookend it.

For me, breaking stigma has meant speaking plainly:
my son died of depression,
and my son died by suicide.

And still—he lived.
He mattered.
He is more than the way he died.

I did not “let go” of my grief by shrinking it.
I released what was destroying me—self-blame, the endless trial in my own mind—by holding true to my son’s narrative.

His suicide does not define his life,
though it does bookend it.

For me, breaking stigma has meant speaking plainly:
my son died of depression,
and my son died by suicide.

And still—he lived.
He mattered.
He is more than the way he died.

When silence gathers

After suicide loss,
grief can arrive with guilt.

Not always because of what you did—
but because grief reaches
for an explanation it cannot hold.

Sometimes the world adds its own weight:
a pause too long,
eyes that drop to the floor,
a conversation that changes direction
the moment your child’s name appears.

The poem resists that quiet exile.
It says, without raising its voice:
Your child’s life mattered.
Your love is not on trial.

After suicide loss,
grief can arrive with guilt.

Not always because of what you did—
but because grief reaches
for an explanation it cannot hold.

Sometimes the world adds its own weight:
a pause too long,
eyes that drop to the floor,
a conversation that changes direction
the moment your child’s name appears.

The poem resists that quiet exile.
It says, without raising its voice:
Your child’s life mattered.
Your love is not on trial.

The questions that won’t roost

Suicide loss leaves questions behind.
Not tidy ones.

If only is one of them.

What did I miss?
What should I have known?
What was happening in the hidden rooms of their mind?

The poem doesn’t offer answers
to stack into certainty.

It simply names the turning—
how the mind returns to the same place,
again and again,
hoping language can change the ending.

Suicide loss leaves questions behind.
Not tidy ones.

If only is one of them.

What did I miss?
What should I have known?
What was happening in the hidden rooms of their mind?

The poem doesn’t offer answers
to stack into certainty.

It simply names the turning—
how the mind returns to the same place,
again and again,
hoping language can change the ending.

Many parents carry a particular kind of guilt after suicide—
the belief that love should have been a guardrail,
that vigilance should have been enough.

But a parent cannot be everywhere.
Not every hour.
Not every breath.

In nature, even the most watchful mother must leave the nest—
to gather what is needed for the living.
And sometimes, in the leaving, loss still finds a way in.

Realizing this doesn’t erase grief.
It doesn’t make what happened acceptable.
It simply loosens one cruel question:
“Was I enough?”

Many parents carry a particular kind of guilt after suicide—
the belief that love should have been a guardrail,
that vigilance should have been enough.

But a parent cannot be everywhere.
Not every hour.
Not every breath.

In nature, even the most watchful mother must leave the nest—
to gather what is needed for the living.
And sometimes, in the leaving, loss still finds a way in.

Realizing this doesn’t erase grief.
It doesn’t make what happened acceptable.
It simply loosens one cruel question:
“Was I enough?”

Suicide can leave survivors with an extra layer of torment—
the mind arguing with itself,
the heart rewriting every ordinary moment for hidden warnings.
If this is you, please hear this with gentleness:
you are not alone in that struggle.

Suicide can leave survivors with an extra layer of torment—
the mind arguing with itself,
the heart rewriting every ordinary moment for hidden warnings.
If this is you, please hear this with gentleness:
you are not alone in that struggle.

Finding light without betrayal

Some days grief is a long season.
It changes the light in everything.

Friends may go quiet—
not from cruelty,
but from fear of saying the wrong thing.

And you can start to feel
like the only tree in the field
still carrying last year’s leaves.

This poem offers a gentler truth:
light returning is not forgetting.

Spring does not apologize
for coming back.
It comes because it is made to.

So do you—
in your own time,
in your own weather.

Some days grief is a long season.
It changes the light in everything.

Friends may go quiet—
not from cruelty,
but from fear of saying the wrong thing.

And you can start to feel
like the only tree in the field
still carrying last year’s leaves.

This poem offers a gentler truth:
light returning is not forgetting.

Spring does not apologize
for coming back.
It comes because it is made to.

So do you—
in your own time,
in your own weather.

In “The Magnolia Tree: A Symbol of Grief and Resilience,” I wrote about what I can and can’t see:

I can see spring—
the magnolia’s sudden ceremony of bloom.

But in winter—
when branches look like pencil-strokes against a low sky—
I cannot see the stored energy.
The quiet work under bark.
The tightening of buds you don’t notice until one morning,
there they are.

And still, this is where I borrow hope:
even when everything looks spare,
life is keeping its promises in secret.
Spring returns, not as a reward,
but as part of how the world keeps turning.

In “The Magnolia Tree: A Symbol of Grief and Resilience,” I wrote about what I can and can’t see:

I can see spring—
the magnolia’s sudden ceremony of bloom.

But in winter—
when branches look like pencil-strokes against a low sky—
I cannot see the stored energy.
The quiet work under bark.
The tightening of buds you don’t notice until one morning,
there they are.

And still, this is where I borrow hope:
even when everything looks spare,
life is keeping its promises in secret.
Spring returns, not as a reward,
but as part of how the world keeps turning.

If you’ve read other pieces here on My Forever Son, you know how often I return to the outdoors for language—
not to escape grief,
but to find something sturdy enough to hold it.

The natural world doesn’t ask me to rewrite my story.
It asks me to keep walking through it—
season by season,
until I can breathe again.

If you’ve read other pieces here on My Forever Son, you know how often I return to the outdoors for language—
not to escape grief,
but to find something sturdy enough to hold it.

The natural world doesn’t ask me to rewrite my story.
It asks me to keep walking through it—
season by season,
until I can breathe again.

If you want to wander a little deeper into the nature-grounded pieces here on My Forever Son,
start with one that feels like your day:

Finding Hope, Healing, and Resilience in Nature
The Magnolia Tree: A Symbol of Grief and Resilience
Finding Hope in Nature’s Resilience Through Spring Flowers
“If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)”: A Deep Reflection on Grief and Healing
On the Wings of Hope: The Dragonfly Story

If you want to wander a little deeper into the nature-grounded pieces here on My Forever Son,
start with one that feels like your day:

Finding Hope, Healing, and Resilience in Nature
The Magnolia Tree: A Symbol of Grief and Resilience
Finding Hope in Nature’s Resilience Through Spring Flowers
“If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)”: A Deep Reflection on Grief and Healing
On the Wings of Hope: The Dragonfly Story

If you’re a parent—reading with your whole body

• There is no correct way to live this.
  No schedule.
  No routine.
• There is no correct way to live this.
  No schedule.
  No routine.
• If your mind replays and replays—
  it isn’t weakness.
  It’s love returning to the same shoreline,
  watching the water
  for what it cannot bring back.
• If your mind replays and replays—
  it isn’t weakness.
  It’s love returning to the same shoreline,
  watching the water
  for what it cannot bring back.
• If you can, let someone stand with you:
  a friend, a counselor, a group, a pastor.
  If you can’t today—
  one small step is still a step.
• If you can, let someone stand with you:
  a friend, a counselor, a group, a pastor.
  If you can’t today—
  one small step is still a step.
• Your child is not reducible
  to one unbearable day.
  Say their name in full.
  Remember their laughter,
  their ordinary Tuesdays,
  the way they moved through light.
• Your child is not reducible
  to one unbearable day.
  Say their name in full.
  Remember their laughter,
  their ordinary Tuesdays,
  the way they moved through light.
• Grief returns in waves, yes—
  but also in seasons:
  cold snaps in April,
  storms on bright days.
  It doesn’t mean you’re failing.
  It means love is still alive.
• Grief returns in waves, yes—
  but also in seasons:
  cold snaps in April,
  storms on bright days.
  It doesn’t mean you’re failing.
  It means love is still alive.

If you love a suicide-loss parent

• Say their child’s name
  if the parent does.
  Let the name be spoken aloud—
  not swallowed by discomfort.
• Say their child’s name
  if the parent does.
  Let the name be spoken aloud—
  not swallowed by discomfort.
• Show up after the first wave
  when the casseroles stop coming.
  A text is enough:
  “I’m thinking of you.”
  “No need to answer.”
  Remember anniversaries.
  Remember the day the air changed.
• Show up after the first wave
  when the casseroles stop coming.
  A text is enough:
  “I’m thinking of you.”
  “No need to answer.”
  Remember anniversaries.
  Remember the day the air changed.
• Offer one real thing
  not a question made of air.
  “Dinner Tuesday?”
  “Groceries?”
  “I can make that call you can’t face.”
  “I can sit with you—quietly.”
• Offer one real thing
  not a question made of air.
  “Dinner Tuesday?”
  “Groceries?”
  “I can make that call you can’t face.”
  “I can sit with you—quietly.”
• Don’t varnish the pain
  with sayings.
  Don’t press silver linings
  into a raw palm.
  Try instead:
  “I’m so sorry.”
  “I’m here.”
  “Tell me about them—any part you want.”
• Don’t varnish the pain
  with sayings.
  Don’t press silver linings
  into a raw palm.
  Try instead:
  “I’m so sorry.”
  “I’m here.”
  “Tell me about them—any part you want.”
• Listen like a shoreline
  steady, not prying.
  Let them choose what to carry into words.
  Let silence be part of the sentence.
• Listen like a shoreline
  steady, not prying.
  Let them choose what to carry into words.
  Let silence be part of the sentence.
• Keep the door cracked open
  to ordinary life.
  Invite them gently.
  If they can’t come, don’t disappear.
  “Not today” is not rejection—
  it’s grief managing breath.
• Keep the door cracked open
  to ordinary life.
  Invite them gently.
  If they can’t come, don’t disappear.
  “Not today” is not rejection—
  it’s grief managing breath.

From “Tillers of the Earth and Tenders of the Soil” (©2021, Beth Brown):

We are the tillers of the earth and the tenders of the soil.
These trees and plants and water garden were here before us, and they will be here after we go.
We take care of them that they might take care of us
and that love might be this caring for one another.

We sit, we watch, we wait,
for time has a way of catching us all a little off guard…

That always we could be crickets at dusk
and water-lilies opening.
That sun-sky could hold ache of us now—

From “Tillers of the Earth and Tenders of the Soil” (©2021, Beth Brown):

We are the tillers of the earth and the tenders of the soil.
These trees and plants and water garden were here before us, and they will be here after we go.
We take care of them that they might take care of us
and that love might be this caring for one another.

We sit, we watch, we wait,
for time has a way of catching us all a little off guard…

That always we could be crickets at dusk
and water-lilies opening.
That sun-sky could hold ache of us now—

I wrote “If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)” as my son’s seventh memorial date neared.

When that date approaches, I go quieter inside.
I look up more.
I pay attention to what the season is saying.

Writing helps me carry the weight.
So does walking.
So does letting the natural world keep me company—
steadfast, wordless, still turning.

That day began as a journal entry on a bright summer afternoon—
blue sky overhead,
and my heart trying to keep up with a world that kept going.

I wrote “If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)” as my son’s seventh memorial date neared.

When that date approaches, I go quieter inside.
I look up more.
I pay attention to what the season is saying.

Writing helps me carry the weight.
So does walking.
So does letting the natural world keep me company—
steadfast, wordless, still turning.

That day began as a journal entry on a bright summer afternoon—
blue sky overhead,
and my heart trying to keep up with a world that kept going.

From “If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)” (©2021, Beth Brown):

If earth were sky and sky above,
Then heart could hold this ache of love,
Suspended, like rain, in clouds wanting to fall,
But bound to sun’s joy because heart touches all.

From “If Earth Were Sky (And Sky Above)” (©2021, Beth Brown):

If earth were sky and sky above,
Then heart could hold this ache of love,
Suspended, like rain, in clouds wanting to fall,
But bound to sun’s joy because heart touches all.

From “Travel On My Brave Soldier” (©Beth Brown, 2025):

Travel on my brave soldier
Travel on wild one
Take heart winged warrior
Unencumbered take great strides.

That might I find here right behind you
Wings that span the breadth of time,
May I follow without ceasing,
The way you gave your love to life.

From “Travel On My Brave Soldier” (©Beth Brown, 2025):

Travel on my brave soldier
Travel on wild one
Take heart winged warrior
Unencumbered take great strides.

That might I find here right behind you
Wings that span the breadth of time,
May I follow without ceasing,
The way you gave your love to life.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for staying with me.

If these words meet you in tears, numbness, anger, love—
whatever is here—
it’s okay.

If you want to,
leave your child’s name in the comments.
Leave one true thing you want remembered—
a small story,
a phrase they used,
what they loved in this world.

If you’re reading as someone who wants to help,
you can share too:
what helped,
what hurt,
what you wish people understood.

I will read it with care.
If you reply to someone else here,
please be gentle.

I don’t make peace with losing my son.
I don’t “move on.”

What I have learned—slowly—
is how to live a life that can hold my love for him
and the missing of him,
at the same time.

Some days that life is small.
Some days it is just getting through the hour.

But step outside with me for one minute.
Look at what winter is doing—
keeping life in reserve.
Look at what spring will do—
coming anyway.

For today, I’m not wishing you “better.”
I’m wishing you a little steadiness.
A little breath.
One small mercy of light.

And if all you can do is keep loving your child from here—
that is everything.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for staying with me.

If these words meet you in tears, numbness, anger, love—
whatever is here—
it’s okay.

If you want to,
leave your child’s name in the comments.
Leave one true thing you want remembered—
a small story,
a phrase they used,
what they loved in this world.

If you’re reading as someone who wants to help,
you can share too:
what helped,
what hurt,
what you wish people understood.

I will read it with care.
If you reply to someone else here,
please be gentle.

I don’t make peace with losing my son.
I don’t “move on.”

What I have learned—slowly—
is how to live a life that can hold my love for him
and the missing of him,
at the same time.

Some days that life is small.
Some days it is just getting through the hour.

But step outside with me for one minute.
Look at what winter is doing—
keeping life in reserve.
Look at what spring will do—
coming anyway.

For today, I’m not wishing you “better.”
I’m wishing you a little steadiness.
A little breath.
One small mercy of light.

And if all you can do is keep loving your child from here—
that is everything.

If you or someone you love is in immediate danger or needs urgent help, please contact local emergency services right away or reach out to a trusted crisis resource in your area.

A Permanence in Love’s Shadow

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay”

“A permanence in love’s shadow,
I am etched forever by the shape
Of his love.”
—from “Shaped By Love–and This Grief Come to Stay”

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for staying with me.

If these words meet you in tears, numbness, anger, love—
whatever is here—
it’s okay.

If you want to,
leave your child’s name in the comments.
Leave one true thing you want remembered—
a small story,
a phrase they used,
what they loved in this world.

If you’re reading as someone who wants to help,
you can share too:
what helped,
what hurt,
what you wish people understood.

I will read it with care.
If you reply to someone else here,
please be gentle.

I don’t make peace with losing my son.
I don’t “move on.”

What I have learned—slowly—
is how to live a life that can hold my love for him
and the missing of him,
at the same time.

Some days that life is small.
Some days it is just getting through the hour.

But step outside with me for one minute.
Look at what winter is doing—
keeping life in reserve.
Look at what spring will do—
coming anyway.

For today, I’m not wishing you “better.”
I’m wishing you a little steadiness.
A little breath.
One small mercy of light.

And if all you can do is keep loving your child from here—
that is everything.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for staying with me.

If these words meet you in tears, numbness, anger, love—
whatever is here—
it’s okay.

If you want to,
leave your child’s name in the comments.
Leave one true thing you want remembered—
a small story,
a phrase they used,
what they loved in this world.

If you’re reading as someone who wants to help,
you can share too:
what helped,
what hurt,
what you wish people understood.

I will read it with care.
If you reply to someone else here,
please be gentle.

I don’t make peace with losing my son.
I don’t “move on.”

What I have learned—slowly—
is how to live a life that can hold my love for him
and the missing of him,
at the same time.

Some days that life is small.
Some days it is just getting through the hour.

But step outside with me for one minute.
Look at what winter is doing—
keeping life in reserve.
Look at what spring will do—
coming anyway.

For today, I’m not wishing you “better.”
I’m wishing you a little steadiness.
A little breath.
One small mercy of light.

And if all you can do is keep loving your child from here—
that is everything.

If you or someone you love is in immediate danger or needs urgent help, please contact local emergency services right away or reach out to a trusted crisis resource in your area.

Related Reads

• When Love Isn’t Enough: “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand”
• Find Hope Here: Poetic Reflections on Grief and Healing
• The Magnolia Tree: A Symbol of Grief and Resilience
• “I Will Seek Until I Find You” Poem: A Journey Through Grief
• Losing My Son to Suicide: A Mother’s Story

My Forever Son

My Forever Son explores the profound grief, hope, and healing that follow the tragedy of losing a child to suicide.

My Forever Son dovetails the author’s journey of descending into deep grief, searching for hope, and finding healing along the way.

Table of Contents

A Mother’s Poetic Reflections on Love

A Mother’s Poetic Journey Through Grief and Love

Love and Grief Intertwine in Cherished Memories of My Son

My love for my son is always there, in all my beautiful memories of his growing up years. Even in the turbulent rockiness of his teenage years, Dylan told me often “I love you, Mom.”

I move forward in my life carrying the deep love I have for my son, and yet still there, so too that persistent ache of the deep grief of loss.

And my grief in losing my son to suicide is also always there for me. I have, after more than a decade of grief and healing, learned to carry love and ache together. I move forward in my life carrying the deep love I have for my son, and yet still there, so too that persistent ache of the deep grief of loss.

A New Permanence Come to Stay

I am forever shaped by my son’s love, and yet too, etched forever by grief in losing him.

Shaped By Love--and This Grief Come to Stay 

(excerpt from the full poem above)

Love (and grief) have a way 
Of changing us forever; 
A new permanence come to stay 
Where once we thought ourselves immutable.

A permanence in love's shadow, 
I am etched forever 
By the shape of his love.


©Beth Brown, 2024, excerpt from the poem: "Shaped By Love--And This Grief Come to Stay"

Shaped By Love--and This Grief Come to Stay 

(excerpt from the full poem above)

Love (and grief) have a way 
Of changing us forever; 
A new permanence come to stay 
Where once we thought ourselves immutable.

A permanence in love's shadow, 
I am etched forever 
By the shape of his love.


©Beth Brown, 2024, excerpt from the poem: "Shaped By Love--And This Grief Come to Stay"

A Lullaby for My Son: “My Child on Earth Above in Heaven’s Care”

Here is a song, a lullaby, I wrote about losing my son.
“My Child on Earth Above, In Heaven’s Care”: A Lullaby of Hope

Here is a song, a lullaby, I wrote about losing my son.
“My Child on Earth Above, In Heaven’s Care”: A Lullaby of Hope

“My Child on Earth Above in Heaven’s Care”: A Lullaby of Hope

Audio: “My Child on Earth Above in Heaven’s Care: A Lullaby of Hope”

 My Child on Earth Above, In Heaven’s Care, ©Beth Brown, My Forever Son, 2023

Dylan will always be My Forever Son

A Mother’s Poetic Journey of Love: Remembering the Growing Up Years

All Giggles and Smiles, Mickey Mouse and Blue’s Clues

I remember giggles and smiles, Mickey Mouse and Blue’s Clues, and the way you clapped with delight when you saw the chocolate cake for your 1st birthday. The room was filled with laughter and the joyful chatter of family and friends, all gathered around to celebrate you. Your tiny hands reached out in pure joy, and as we sang “Happy Birthday,” it felt like the entire universe was celebrating alongside you, making that day a beautiful memory etched forever in my heart.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Mexican Dip, and Laughing Over “Who’s Line Is It Anyway?”

I Remember Us Making Our Homemade 5-Layer Mexican Dip

I remember making 5-layer Mexican Dip and laughing, howling even, over “Who’s Line is it Anyway?” It was one of those perfect evenings where everything just fell into place. The aroma of spices filled the kitchen as we prepared our favorite dinner, layers upon layers of deliciousness waiting to be devoured.

We would make Mexican 5-layer dip, open a bag of blue tortilla chips, and carry it all into our living room. The vibrant colors of the dip—refried beans, guacamole, sour cream, salsa, and shredded cheese—created a feast for the eyes before we even took a bite. Dylan would flop on the couch, grabbing a handful of chips, and then scoop deeply into the Mexican 5-layer dip. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon we were all laughing and joking about the antics of the characters on the show.

As the laughter echoed in the room, each chip dipped into the creamy, savory layers was met with an explosion of flavor. The coolness of the sour cream contrasted perfectly with the zing of salsa, creating a delightful combination that made it impossible to stop eating. Dylan would often make exaggerated facial expressions after tasting a particularly good scoop, adding to our merriment.

In those moments, it wasn’t just about the dip or the show; it was about the joy of being together, the silly jokes we shared, and the comfort of familiarity. Those evenings filled with laughter and good food created lasting memories that I cherish to this day, proving that sometimes the simplest gatherings are the most meaningful.

Avocados, Red Onion, Cilantro, Jalapeños, and Fresh Lime Juice

Beautiful Memories: Dylan whirring the avocados, chopped red onion, chopped cilantro, and jalapenos in the food processor, then squeezing lots of fresh lime juice and sprinkling sea salt for good measure. The vibrant green of the avocados mingled beautifully with the bright reds and whites, creating a colorful mix that teased the senses and promised a delightful taste.

As Dylan blended the ingredients together, a creamy texture began to form, and the tantalizing aroma of fresh herbs filled the kitchen, instantly reminding everyone of warm summer evenings spent enjoying delicious homemade guacamole with friends and family. Each pulse of the processor brought back memories of laughter and joy, making this simple culinary task a cherished moment.

I would make the bean dip–pinto, black, and kidney beans, combined for a delightful texture. To enhance the flavor, I would add a couple of cloves of garlic, minced to release their aromatic essence, along with a pinch of sea salt to elevate the taste. Finally, I’d add salsa to taste, choosing one with a vibrant mix of tomatoes, onions, and spices, which would not only add a zesty kick but also create a colorful presentation that invites everyone to dig in. This dip would be perfect for gatherings or as a healthy snack option any time.

Building the 5-Layer Mexican Dip, Replete with Chopped Tomatoes and Black Olives

Then Dylan and I would build the fabulous layers on a glass oval dish designated especially for Mexican Dip: Bean dip on the bottom, creating a rich and hearty foundation, then a generous layer of guacamole, vibrant and creamy, followed by a thick spread of sour cream, offering a tangy contrast.

Next, we would sprinkle a hearty amount of shredded Mexican cheese, then carefully place fresh tomatoes, diced finely, to add a burst of color and freshness. Finally, we would adorn the top with chopped black olives, their briny flavor completing this delightful masterpiece, making it not just a dip, but a celebration of flavors, perfect for sharing during gatherings with family and friends.

I still have the recipe–If only I could have kept Dylan along with the recipe. I miss my son.

[Suggested Reading]: “Derecho: A Storm Out of Nowhere”: Grief Poem–“He Left Too Soon”is about Beth Brown’s poignant poem, “Derecho: A Storm Out of Nowhere -Grief Poem “He Left Too Soon,” which skillfully intertwines the sorrow stemming from the loss of her son to suicide with the tumult wrought by a powerful Derecho storm that occurred on the day of his funeral.

Included in her book on Amazon Kindle, Bury My Heart: 19 Poems for Grief and Healing After Losing a Child to Suicide, the poem that was inspired by the Derecho, “He Left Too Soon,” explores the profound grief and emotional turmoil she experienced. Through her eloquent writing, Brown aspires to offer solace to those enduring similar tragedies, thereby shedding light on the fragility of life and the enduring strength of love amidst sorrow.

Memories of You as the Blue Power Ranger and My Catching You Just in Time

Power Rangers – your blue and white diamond-checkered costume that your Aunt Linda made, replete with a Power Ranger sword, jumping from the top stair and my catching you just in time. It was a heart-pounding moment, filled with the thrill of your adventurous spirit, your laughter echoing through the house as you imagined yourself in a fierce battle to save the day.

I remember Froggie and Small Pig, Henry and Mudge, the Rugrats (especially Chuckie, with his wild red hair and nervous personality), and Charlie Brown, each character bringing back countless afternoons filled with joy and wonder. The classroom parties were another highlight, with Halloween costumes transforming your classmates into a parade of superheroes, witches, and various creatures, while we indulged in the delightful assortment of candy and cupcakes I’d baked just for your parties.

Chocolate always was your favorite, and on the edge of sweet-tinged memories, I ache in absence of you.

Healing Through Poetry: Grieving a Child’s Loss to Suicide

Healing Through Poetry: Grieving a Child’s Loss to Suicide explores the challenging journey of healing after the heartbreaking loss of a child to suicide. Heartfelt poems and evocative visuals create a soothing experience, inviting readers to connect with the deep emotions in each verse. This blend of poetry and photography from the author’s gardens fosters an emotional bond, offering comfort to those with similar experiences while encouraging them to acknowledge their pain, cherish memories, and seek healing amid despair.

He Left Too Soon

He left too soon— 
Lifting life from June,
Casting torrents of rain
 
His absence—
Breath of pain whose exhale can only bring
Heart heaving, this beating of tears

Breaking loose—
All hell in earth's upturned rupture, 
Death shoveling shadows over me

As I bend to lay flowers on his name—
Inscribed and bronzed, 
A permanence come to stay
 
My love laced now with pain—
Standing over my son's grave,
Death's Derecho come to stay in my shadow.
 
Beth Brown, copyright 2021, "He Left Too Soon" Poem: A Mother's Deep Sorrow

Explore the compelling tale that inspired the poem, "He Left too Soon," here: Derecho: A Storm Out of Nowhere - Grief Poem "He Left Too Soon"

“He Left Too Soon”: A Mother’s Deep Sorrow

“He Left Too Soon” Poem: A Mother’s Deep Sorrow  is a poignant poem that bravely addresses the profound sorrow and anguish that comes with losing a beloved child to suicide. The poem aims to express the deep and complex emotions of grief, loss, and yearning, capturing the overwhelming turmoil that families face during such an unimaginable tragedy. The inspiration for the poem, “He Left Too Soon,” delves into the profound depths of early, acute grief following the heartbreaking loss of my son to suicide. This piece encapsulates themes of grief, mourning, remembrance, and the enduring love that persists even in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

Derecho: A Storm Out of Nowhere–Grief Poem: “He Left Too Soon”

Derecho: A Storm Out of Nowhere–Grief Poem: “He Left Too Soon” skillfully intertwines the sorrow stemming from the loss of her son to suicide with the tumult wrought by a powerful Derecho storm that occurred on the day of his funeral. Included in her publication, Bury My Heart: 19 Poems for Grief and Healing After Losing a Child to Suicide, the poem that was inspired by the Derecho, “He Left Too Soon,” explores the profound grief and emotional turmoil she experienced. Through her eloquent writing, Brown aspires to offer solace to those enduring similar tragedies, thereby shedding light on the fragility of life and the enduring strength of love amidst sorrow.

“On Baby’s Breath and Angel Wings”: Grieving a Child’s Suicide

“On Baby’s Breath and Angel Wings” Poem: Grieving a Child’s Suicide explores the profound grief of losing a child to suicide. The author, Beth Brown, reflects on the painful memories of her son Dylan’s life, his love for music, and the helplessness she felt in his final days. The poem “On Baby’s Breath and Angel Wings” juxtaposes the beauty of Dylan’s childhood memories with the devastating reality of his tragic end.

Once Upon a Blue-Sky Moon (excerpt)

But oh my son, if I’d only known
I’d have reached right in to your dark night’s soul–

I would have held on,
I would have clutched you,
I would have never let you go

But you told me
“Mom I love you”
Oh my child, if I’d only known.

Beth Brown, excerpt from "Once Upon a Blue-Sky Moon": A Poem About Losing a Child to Suicide

Understanding ‘Once Upon a Blue-Sky Moon’ Poem’s Heartfelt Message

Understanding ‘Once Upon a Blue-Sky Moon’ Poem’s Heartfelt Message captures the profound sorrow of losing a child to suicide. Through vivid imagery, it honors the enduring love between parent and child, providing solace and hope for reunion. The poem is a poignant tribute to Brown’s son, Dylan, where the author remembers her son’s growing-up years, both cherished memories and moments where “If I’d Only Known” echo in her refrain. A powerful poem for parents who have lost a child to suicide.

The Emotional Depth of “Beat Still My Heart”: A Powerful Elegy

The Emotional Depth of ‘Beat Still My Heart’: A Powerful Elegy explores the deep emotional journey of losing a child to suicide. This poignant reflection through poetry captures the sorrow and despair of such a loss, blending personal experiences with universal themes of love and remembrance.The author navigates grief with verses that resonate, inviting readers to confront raw emotions and unanswered questions. Vivid imagery of a shipwreck in a storm encapsulates the unbearable loss, making the elegy a powerful tribute to a tragic experience.

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“Sorrow Buried in Love”: A Poem for Grieving Parents

“Sorrow Buried in Love”: A Poem for Grieving Parents explores the heart-wrenching journey of a parent grappling with the profound loss of a child to suicide. While friends and family often offer encouragement towards healing, those who have walked this painful path understand how overwhelming these expectations can be. Moving forward is not just about progressing in life; it also involves cherishing and carrying our child’s memory within us, honoring their presence in all we do.

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“Bury My Heart”: A Grief Poem of Unimaginable Loss

Bury My Heart: A Grief Poem of Unimaginable Loss is a poignant poem that captures the deep sorrow of losing a child, an agonizing experience that many parents fear but few can truly comprehend until faced with such a heartbreaking reality. It weaves themes of grief, hope, and healing into a tapestry of emotions, allowing readers to navigate their own journeys of despair and recovery. The poem provides not only an outlet for those grappling with this unimaginable pain but also serves as a powerful reminder that they are not alone in their struggles.

Haunted by Guilt in Grief Poem: “Still from Sky I’m Falling”

Haunted by Guilt in Grief Poem: “Still from Sky I’m Falling“ shares a profoundly personal journey through the heart-wrenching experience of grief and guilt following the tragic loss of a child to suicide, featuring the poignant poem “Still from Sky I’m Falling.” Interlacing the deep sorrow of loss with the haunting feelings of remorse, the author creates a poem deep with heartfelt reflections that offer a glimpse into the overwhelming emotional struggle and the fragile path towards healing that follow such an unimaginable tragedy.

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“Shaped by Love and This Grief Come to Stay”: A Poem on Suicide Loss

Holding True to My Son’s Narrative: “Shaped by Love” Poem Analysis examines the profound connection between love and grief experienced after the heartbreaking loss of her son to suicide. The poem beautifully conveys the author’s steadfast commitment to honor her journey of grief, affirming her right to experience her emotions fully and illustrating the deep intertwining of love and sorrow. Through evocative imagery, “Shaped by Love and This Grief Come to Stay” poignantly expresses the complicated feelings that accompany such a significant and painful loss.

If only a mother’s love could have saved you,
Could have heard in the dark your heart’s cry,
She could have saved you yet both together,
Falling stars in a moonless sky.   

Beth Brown, “If Only a Mother’s Love Could Have Saved You”: A Poem on Grieving a Child's Suicide, My Forever Son

“If Only a Mother’s Love Could Have Saved You”: Powerful Poem

If Only a Mother’s Love Could Have Saved You: Powerful Poem explores the deep emotional pain of losing a child to suicide. The author conveys their experience through poignant verses that depict the raw essence of grief, reflecting the complex emotions of sorrow and longing. The heartfelt language serves as a reminder of enduring love in the face of unimaginable loss.

When Love Isn’t Enough: “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand”

When Love Isn’t Enough: “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand” explores the complexities of suicide and includes a compassionate treatise written by the author, “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand,” challenging the notion that it is a choice. The treatise, “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand,” emphasizes the inevitability of death, regardless of the cause, and the limitations of love in preventing it. The author of the treatise “Ode to Suicide: That We Might Understand” and this article, “When Love Isn’t Enough,” Beth Brown shares her personal journey of grief after losing her son to suicide, finding solace in writing and nature photography.

Embracing Grief: A Poetic Journey of Love

Have you ever considered how your story might connect with others? We encourage you to share how you have embraced your grief and how it reflects the deep love you have for your child. Your experience can powerfully show how love and loss are connected, inspiring others on their journeys.

• Reflect on your experiences: How have you embraced your grief? How does your grief reflect the deep love you have for your child?

Sharing your story can be a meaningful step in your healing journey.

Leave a Comment

If You Need Immediate Support

Online Directory for Coping with Grief, Trauma, and Distress

After A Suicide Resource Directory: Coping with Grief, Trauma, and Distress
http://www.personalgriefcoach.net
This online directory links people who are grieving after a suicide death to resources and information.

Alliance of Hope for Suicide Survivors
http://www.allianceofhope.org
This organization for survivors of suicide loss provides information sheets, a blog, and a community forum through which survivors can share with each other.

Friends for Survival
http://www.friendsforsurvival.org
This organization is for suicide loss survivors and professionals who work with them. It produces a monthly newsletter and runs the Suicide Loss Helpline (1-800-646-7322). It also published Pathways to Purpose and Hope, a guide to building a community-based suicide survivor support program.

HEARTBEAT: Grief Support Following Suicide
http://heartbeatsurvivorsaftersuicide.org
This organization has chapters providing support groups for survivors of suicide loss in Colorado and some other states. Its website provides information sheets for survivors and a leader’s guide on how to start a new chapter of HEARTBEAT.

Professional Organizations

American Association of Suicidology
suicidology.org • (202) 237-2280
Promotes public awareness, education and training for professionals, and sponsors an annual Healing After Suicide conference for suicide loss survivors. In addition to the conference, they offer a coping with suicide grief handbook by Jeffrey Jackson. This booklet is also available in Spanish.

The Compassionate Friends
compassionatefriends.org • (877) 969-0010
Offers resources for families after the death of a child. They sponsor support groups, newsletters and online support groups throughout the country, as well as an annual national conference for bereaved families.

The Dougy Center
The National Center for Grieving Children & Families
dougy.org • (503) 775-5683
Publishes extensive resources for helping children and teens who are grieving a death including death by suicide. Resources include the “Children, Teens and Suicide Loss” booklet created in partnership with AFSP. This booklet is also available in Spanish.

Link’s National Resource Center for Suicide Prevention and Aftercare
thelink.org/nrc-for-suicide-prevention-aftercar • 404-256-2919
Dedicated to reaching out to those whose lives have been impacted by suicide and connecting them to available resources.

Tragedy Assistance Programs for Survivors (TAPS)
taps.org/suicide • (800) 959-TAPS (8277)
Provides comfort, care and resources to all those grieving the death of a military loved one through a national peer support network and connection to grief resources, all at no cost to surviving families and loved ones.

LOSS
losscs.org
Offers support groups, remembrance events, companioning, suicide postvention and prevention education, and training to other communities interested in developing or enhancing their suicide postvention and prevention efforts.

Crisis Services

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
988lifeline.org
Call or text 988 (press 1 for Veterans, 2 for Spanish, 3 for LGBTQ+ youth and young adults) or chat 988lifeline.org
A 24-hour, toll-free suicide prevention service available to anyone in suicidal crisis. You will be routed to the closest possible crisis center in your area. With crisis centers across the country, their mission is to provide immediate assistance to anyone seeking mental health services. Call for yourself, or someone you care about. Your call is free and confidential.

Crisis Text Line
crisistextline.org
Text TALK to 741-741 for English
Text AYUDA to 741-741 for Spanish
Provides free, text-based mental health support and crisis intervention by empowering a community of trained volunteers to support people in their moments of need, 24/7.

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"Why?"

The Black Dog: Understanding Depression and Grief

The Black Dog: Understanding Depression and Grief Summary The Black Dog: Understanding Depression and Grief explores the “black dog” metaphor as a means to understand and communicate the experience of depression. Originating from Winston Churchill and popularized by Matthew Johnstone’s illustrated book, the metaphor describes depression as a persistent, burdensome companion.The content of the article,…

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For Parents

Finding Beauty in Loss: Reflections on Grief and Healing

Finding Beauty in Loss: Reflections on Grief and Healing Key Takeaways Summary Finding Beauty in Loss: Reflections on Grief and Healing shares author Beth Brown’s journey of grief and healing after losing her son, Dylan, to suicide. Through poetry and nature photography, she finds solace and a way to express her overwhelming emotions after suicide loss.…

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