As a mother who lost my son Charles to suicide in 2015, I’ve learned that healing is less about “moving on” and more about learning to carry and honor the loss with strength and compassion.

At times, the grief fuels advocacy or purpose.

Other times, it unfolds and carries me back under.

It’s called a “grief journey” for a reason

It’s because it doesn’t end as much as it evolves.

As you learn to walk beside it and weave the tragedy into the tapestry called life, you develop the emotional muscle to carry it. If you do the work. What’s more, it can transform you into someone you never imagined you could be.

You may be reading this and thinking, “I am no better, and it’s been many years.”

If that’s the case, it’s not too late to start that healing process, accepting that you’ll never go back to the person you were before.

One young man who came to our grief group had lost his mother 20 years ago. He was undergoing therapy when his counselor suggested that he may never have actually grieved his mother’s death by suicide. So he made the decision to start decades later.

In a desperate attempt to escape the pain, others have numbed their pain with gambling or a substances that stall the process. However, I’ve had so many who took this path initiallly, tell me they are in recovery from substance use disorder and have begun the work to move through grief in a healthy way.

Grief doesn’t follow a straight line or a predetermined path.

For long-term survivors, the pain can resurface in waves

Many survivors share that, years and even decades later, they’re surprised when grief sneaks back in. A graduation, a wedding, a funeral or the birth of a grandchild can bring joy and sorrow in equal measure. This doesn’t mean you’re “stuck.” It means your love is still alive, and grief has become part of your story.

Time does soften the pain and usually that pain comes in shorter waves and usually more tolerable ones because you have developed the emotional muscle.

At the start of 2025 around March, I became irritable, my emotions and tears hovered closer to the surface, and I felt low. My joints achee intensely. And then it dawned on me that I was approaching my son’s 30th birthday in April and the tenth year since his death by suicide in June. It was this milestone that activated extra ache and irritability. After the date of his death passed, the aches subsided and my low mood lifted.

One person I met in my presentation journey says he feels overwhelmed around prom time every year when photos are posted because her son took his life the week prior the the junior/senior prom. And she recalls how the photos posted online by proud parents always leave her feeling assaulted.

What Long-Term Healing Really Looks Like

Despite what people may think who haven’t been through this, you don’t stop loving your loved one who died by suicide. And you don’t stop grieving even though it’s not as all consuming as it was at the beginning (thank goodness).

Navigating the Hard Conversations

Even years later, people may say, “Haven’t you moved on by now?” or imply you’re “holding onto your grief.” Comments like these can sting and might even make you angry. Learning to reframe and respond, whether with honesty, humor, or simply walking away, helps protect your healing process. How you respond is personal, and frankly, no one way is wrong.

It simply comes down to how important the relationship is to you. If it’s your sister or dad, then it’s probably important to take a deep breath and try to help them understand because they love you and the do want to support you. If it’s an acquaintance, you might not think the relationship is worth the effort and you might choose to ignore it because you don’t have the energy.

My Family Never Mentions His Name

It’s what we dread the most, isn’t it? That our child will be forgotten. And when it’s family who avoids mentioning them, the sting cuts even deeper.

The truth is, it’s unlikely they’ve forgotten. More often, it’s too painful or uncomfortable for them to bring it up. Some families talk openly. Others need years before they can. And some never do—feeling relief when the subject stays in the rearview mirror, at least for them.

When they don’t talk, we can’t make them. In fact, the harder we try, the more determined they may be to steer the conversation away. To us, it can feel like our loved one has been erased from the family tree—as if they never existed. That pain deepens when the same relatives freely share stories about others who died of what they consider more “acceptable” causes, while continuing to avoid our child’s name.

Years later, the silence still hurts—at holidays, milestones, and family gatherings. We continue to live with grief, even if others choose not to speak of it. Sometimes the only way forward is to accept their discomfort and seek out the people who will say our loved one’s name and honor their memory.

One place that offers this connection is International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day, hosted each November by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (with similar events around the world). It happens just before the holidays—a reminder that we are not alone, and that even if some family members cannot join us in remembering, there is always a community who will.

When your grief makes you feel suicidal

Some survivors of suicide loss quietly struggle with thoughts of suicide themselves because this brand of loss can increase hopelessness. (Study from the UK.)

The trauma of suicide bereavement is distinct from other forms of grief due to the intense feelings of stigma, shame, guilt, and rejection that survivors can feel. The added burden of these emotions and the social isolation that is a symptom of the shame contributes to heightened suicide risk.

It’s not uncommon, and it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Because no one asks for suicidal thoughts.

If you have these thoughts, it’s time to trust someone.

Talk openly with someone you trust about these feelings

If you tell a friend, together you can call 988 or text 741-741 and ask what to do next. (more resources here).

Or you could reach out to those resources and talk to a stranger. (international crisis lines) Ask about next steps. Reaching out for support does take courage because there is no time in your life when you will feel more vulnerable.

The person you choose to tell shouldn’t be the one who is always doling out unsolicited advice. It’s the person who listens you want to tell.

You may think you are burdening someone by telling them you want to die

Initially, the person you tell may feel unqualified.

But they are qualified to listen, to hear you and see you, and that initial jolt will soften to wanting to support you. The ultimate result is that they feel honored that you trusted them. That person feels empowered. And you feel a lightness for having let it go. What was taking up lots of brain real estate might still be present, but you will have more room in your head for other thoughts.

The Weight of Advocacy

Many long-term survivors turn their pain into purpose, advocating for suicide prevention or supporting others who are grieving. While meaningful, this work can lead to compassion fatigue.

Recognize the signs—exhaustion, irritability, numbness—and think about what you can do to give yourself space or discuss with someone else who has likely had this feeling, too. Setting personal boundaries is essential for sustaining both your advocacy and your well-being. And it might be time to focus on another cause.

Make a change. Some have decided to step back from grief or suicide advocacy and pursue something that meant a lot to their loved one. One dad decided to volunteer at the SPCA for pets because his son loved dogs.

Example: A friend of mine, Georgia, lost a son to suicide. When it happened, she had been divorced for many years. She dove into advocacy and suicide prevention with gusto. It started to wear on her.

And then she started struggling with thoughts of suicide. She then pulled out of her full-time job that had focused on suicide and mental health, and went back to her career in finance. She worked with a therapist on a safety plan and her main go-to action was that when she was feeling near suicidal or suicidal, she would send a group text to 5 women with whom she had confided and cared about her, and one of them would come spend the night with her or she’d go stay at their house. Usually one of them was available and it wasn’t frequent.

She still wanted to contribute to the cause of suicide prevention so she thought about her strengths and worked with others on a more limited basis to reach out for sponsors since that was her gift.

The short answer to all of this is to take a break, find a self-care strategy that works for you, step back, make a change or do something new entirely.

I hit that compassion fatigue wall a few years ago.

It was september, by far my busiest month, and after telling my story over and over, I thought, “I can’t do this any more. What am I going to do?”

I thought about it and tried something. What if I passed out index cards at the beginning of my presentations (when online it’s the chat). At the end I ask, “Share one thing you learned on the index card.” I am transparent about why I want the cards. Because after I tell my story, there can be an emotional crash of sorts and it’s exhausting.

When I feel the drop, I grab the cards and read them and they fill me back up and remind me why I do what I do. In addition, I now do online trainings where I’m doing a much shorter version of my story and focusing on the stories that help people learn more about preventing suicide, going upstream, and finding purpose after loss.

Moving Forward Together

Grief doesn’t end, but it can evolve. When we share honestly, validate each other’s struggles, and learn new coping tools, time can soften the pain. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means finding ways to live fully and find joy, even while carrying loss.

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a leading wellness and suicide education expert and one of the top mental health speakers and suicide prevention speakers. Known for her powerful, motivational keynotes, AnneMoss combines her personal story of loss with proven strategies to help organizations build a wellness culture that drives results and saves lives.  She speaks at conferences, workplaces, K-12 schools, and universities, delivering impactful presentations that inspire change and promote mental health awareness.
AnneMoss does this work in memory of her son, Charles, who struggled with anxiety, depression, and addiction, and died by suicide at age 20 in 2015.