My Forever Son
My Forever Son began as Dylan’s story, but along the way, became my journey back from the overwhelming sorrow of losing my child to suicide.
I didn’t want to live without my son. A desperate longing to be with Dylan enveloped me. I couldn’t eat, sleep, work, or think coherently. I had no words. No voice. A writer without her voice and ability to write. A mother without her son. I didn’t want to stay. I couldn’t find hope enough to want to live. I didn’t believe I could live without my son.
I have had to learn to want to live again.
My Forever Son: Chronicling Grief, Hope, and Healing
In June of 2012 on the eve of the 24th, my 20-year-old son, Dylan, was home for summer break from a prestigious university.
By 4:00 a.m. the morning of June 25th, everything I knew to be sacred and true about my life would change.
The incessant pounding on my front door came in the middle of the night. 4:00 a.m. Three sheriff’s deputies were standing on my front porch holding a gallon-sized ziploc bag with Dylan’s Samsung mobile phone and his brown leather wallet. The wallet I had given him for his birthday in March.
Dylan had only just turned 20. Cusp of young adulthood. Barely past 19. June 25th. A lifetime ago. His. Mine. Gone in a heartbeat. A second on the clock. My son.
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