This is a picture of my immediate family after hiking to the top of a mountain.
Every vacation or holiday, I feel the joy of seeing all my family and loved ones (especially the new members of our family). Still, there is always a jolt, an activating event that reminds me of who is not there.
My grandnieces have beautiful curls. That reminds me of Charles, my son, who died by suicide. He also had gorgeous, soft curls.
The kids play games, and I am reminded of how much Charles loved games and how good he was with young kids. The dogs chase balls and I am reminded how much Charles loved dogs and adored playing ball with his dog, Andy, and any dog really.
After talking to someone about these conflicting memories and feelings, this person said to me, “Do you think you are not being grateful for what you do have?”
I paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Losing a child amplifies what you are grateful for more than any event that ever happens in your life. However, I can’t and won’t erase my deceased son and his memory from my family tree. I will talk about my deceased son as long as you continue to talk about your living ones.”
And I smiled. Not a cruel or angry smile but one of love and compassion.
She was about to say something else and then stopped.
I looked at her and said, “Remember. You have never been through this, and you don’t know what it’s like or what you would do if it did happen. I do mental health and suicide prevention education and training in hopes you never have to find out.”
I don’t remember saying all this.
She does.
And when her best friend lost a child to an overdose 6 months ago, she had a better understanding of what to do and say, and more importantly, what not to say because she listened. And I guess because I took the time to educate on the grief of losing a child.
She reminded me of our conversation and asked more questions so she could support her friend. She wanted to be able to sit with her friend in her tragedy without trying to fix it or her.
Because there is no “fixing” this. But being there is important.
Related Posts:
- How Can I Help A Friend Who Lost Her Child to Suicide
- What do you say to parents who’ve just lost a child?
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.
Thank you AnneMoss, for sharing your way of dealing with comments such as you write about. And l really appreciated the comments of other readers.
A loss to suicide is so hard and though we are grateful (well maybe sometimes we can even lose this connection), that doesn’t erase the pain of our memories of the ones we have lost. And our memories do not mean that we lack gratitude, just because we may sometimes look sad or distant. Our memories can connect us to our people but they can equally remind us of the oft times emptiness in our hearts.
Like AnneMoss says, we will not erase their memories from our family trees.
Unless people experience such a loss, l think they equate it to all loss. But we who have sadly been touched by this, how we know just how different, difficult and debilitating this type of loss can be.
Thank you Anne Moss. Great response to someone who had no idea what she was talking about. Gratefulness exists alongside grief.
I still go to family events and weddings and showers for friends, knowing I will never have any children nor grandchildren.
I still listen to people in person and all over social media say that “having children and grandchildren is the meaning of life”.
If that’s the case, what does my life mean?
What purpose do I fulfill?
You have found yours, but I am still looking for mine.
Dear friend. I found your honesty so moving. And I’m so sorry for the ache that is behind your comment about purpose. After my son’s ‘death’, I remember thinking how insensitive it was when friends would complain about their adult children not calling enough or how inconvenient it was that their grandchildren did not live locally. It all felt so callous and oblivious to the fact that I would give anything to have a phone call from my adult son, or how I was never going to have a grandchild from him, period, regardless of distance. After a lot of healing, I realized that losing a child is so far outside the realm of normalcy that most people can’t access that level of profound pain unless they’ve personally experienced it. Eventually, it stopped feeling so personal. My views on my purpose have continued to evolve, too, and whereas I once aspired to live my life through my children and grandchildren, I now feel differently. I believe we’re each here to remember who we really are; we are infinite souls having a human life, meant to evolve from all our experiences. And in the process, I’ve discovered that love is the only thing that is real; and nothing real can be lost or destroyed. As a mother of a child across the veil, I know that nothing can ever separate us, certainly not death. Sending you much love.
Beautiful. I love your comment about evolution, Leslie.
Thanks Leslie. 🩵
I never say much when the “grandmother’s club” talk comes up, but it remains hard for me.
I understand that. Especially since he was your only. While I know what it’s like to lose a child to suicide i didn’t experience losing an only child to suicide.
Hi AnneMoss,
So appreciate your kind, honest response to a question about gratitude after loss of Charles. That was also a great opportunity to highlight why you teach about loss & suicide!
Folks mean well but if losing a child is not your experience, you can’t know how recalling the memories is so healing & needed. They are still very alive to us.
God bless your work, Gloria Green
Yes they are. I used to sweat when I shared the truth gently. I still get jolts to the heart. But I still do it. Thank you Gloria. Much love to you.
Anne, I can so relate to your story about being around loved ones who are happy and sharing, while we grieve the loss of our sons whom we lost by suicide. That hole can never can be filled. The stories they tell of their living children, while we interject stories of our sons who are no longer here. I can feel their ‘impatience’ with our stories of our child who is no longer here. I usually stop sharing, while my grief deepens. I stop going to some social gatherings because of my discomfort. And that’s ok for me.
I feel it too. And I also feel like why do I have to confine my memories just to my support group? They have accepted it now. But I will say there are circles in which he is rarely mentioned still. I can only do so much. This felt nice for someone to acknowledge that what I said mattered and they remembered. Thanks for commenting.