Every year, it happens, the anniversary date of my son’s death by suicide, which is June 5, 2015.
When it first happened, I could not escape those unrelenting waves of grief. I lost one third of my hair, screamed at the walls, blamed the moon and the stars, broke out in hives, wrote two blogs a day to manage the hurt, and sank to the floor in sobbing wails of despair and loss.
The grief has softened into something like a vignette around a picture.
During the first five years, it was the entire month preceding the death date that I was dragging and it was more insistent with more side effects.
Flash forward 11 years, and I don’t ever know what to expect before the death anniversary, and I go with the flow. But I can say that the time frame of suffering has shrunk to the week before.
Oddly, my body is often conscious of the pending date long before my brain picks up on it.
What does it feel like this year?
I just feel flat at times. Despite low energy, I’m keeping up my exercise routine, but all extra energy evaporates at the end of the day.
In short, I am quieter than usual, more deflated.
About 7 days before the June 5th death date, I had a trauma dream
In the dream, I was driving and fell into a deep sleep at the wheel with Charles in the passenger seat. It was so real, especially the terror.
I was talking to him in the car in my sleep, and telling him and myself that I was sorry, but I could not make myself wake up to drive. I had to wake up, and wouldn’t he help me?
He said, “Hey, Mom, it’s OK, it will be fine,” and laughed. Not a mean laugh. He just didn’t take it that seriously, and he was totally calm.
In the dream, I felt the car going into the other lane even though I wasn’t fully awake and couldn’t yet see over the dashboard, which had me panicked. I then yelled to Charles that he had to wake me up because it was dangerous. I just had to get out of the deep slumber so I could see above the dashboard, so I wouldn’t kill us both.
I was asleep on his thigh and trying desperately to pull myself up, but I could not open my eyes. And in my mind, in my dream, I’m thinking, “I have to wake up. I must. It’s life or death!”
Apparently, my heart rate spiked dramatically (I have an Oura ring that verifies that, so I know exactly when I had the dream), and I sat straight up in bed, panicked and pouring with sweat.
Although this was far from what anyone would describe as a great dream, my immediate response was, “I am ok, and even better, I had a Charles dream!” I was elated.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Charles dream.
I talked to him, touched him, saw him, and that felt real, too. Even a night terror with him in it made me happy. How crazy is that?
My blood pressure is usually 110 over 70, lower at night, so a spike for me is hardly a cardiac event of any significance. But my ring did note my sleep anxiety, which made me laugh later.
My grief right now
If I had to compare it to a sound, it would be like the electric buzz of a neon sign when it’s on. Background noise maybe.
I’m not feeling underwater like I did when it first happened. Just a pull that makes my limbs and heart feel heavier. I space out more, drift into daydreaming, struggle to concentrate, misplace items, forget where I’m going, and do things out of order.
Grief brain has made a temporary comeback, but I know it won’t last long.
I can say it’s the ideal frame of mind when traveling, but I did make it to my San Antonio keynote and back. What a supportive audience. And the hugs after helped.
What am I going to do about it?
No longer do I feel the need to run or hide from it, but take those moments of reflection to savor memories of Charles.
I watched his memorial video, then I watched Alex Morganti talk about him at our memorial service, and how he was wearing a dragon costume when Charles first met Alex’s dad, and the reaction to it. I love laughing at that video, even if it’s followed by “I miss you” tears.
And then I did what works for me.
I decided to have a party. Small and impromptu.
I invited my book club over for dinner on the deck. Truth be told, we’re not much of a book club anymore. The books were once the reason we gathered, but over time, the friendships became the real reason we keep showing up. I needed to be surrounded by people I care about because, in the end, it’s the relationships that matter most.
At some point during the evening, I’ll close my eyes and listen to the talking and laughter and let it wash over me. I did the same thing during a Soundbath class on Sunday.
There was a time when joy and connection felt distant, as if I were observing them from the outside and I’d never feel them again. But over time, I found a way to live with the loss, carry it with me, and find joy in my life.
Now, instead of feeling separated from it all, I feel grateful to be immersed in it. The laughter, the conversations, the simple act of being together—these are the moments I want to hold onto.
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.
AnneMoss,
As two longtime friends and fellow survivors who also lost our sons to death by suicide — your Charles on June 5, 2015, and our Adam on April 23, 1993 — we feel this date with you. These anniversaries have a way of settling into the body long before the mind catches up, and your words capture that truth with such honesty.
Your dream of Charles… we understand that strange mix of terror and gratitude. How even a night‑terror becomes a gift when it lets us see or hear our children again. Those moments stay with us in a way nothing else can.
As the date approaches, please know you are held close in our hearts. You’ve carried so many of us through our own waves of grief, and today we simply want to stand beside you — quietly, steadily, without needing to fix anything.
One resource that has helped many of us over the years is Alliance of Hope, a gentle place created specifically for suicide‑loss survivors. You may already know it, but if not, it’s a community that understands the long arc of grief and the way anniversaries echo through the years.
And because scripture has often steadied us when words fall short, we wanted to share a few that have carried us through the harder days:
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4
Not as answers — just reminders that we are not walking this valley alone.
Thank you for continuing to speak Charles’s name, for sharing your heart so openly, and for helping so many families, including ours, find light again in the darkest places. We’re holding you close this week, friend.
With love, understanding, and deep respect,
Andy — Adam’s Story KC
📬 adamsstoryinfo@gmail.com
Thank you so much my friend. For your friendship and your advocacy.
I just had a dream last night, I thought someone was on the 4 wheeler, my son Henry was on ir all the time before he was murdered 7/14/21 so his anniversary is coming soon, my heart has been broken 💔 since that day
Thank you for sharing your story. I am so sorry. Loss by reason of murder is also quite complex. I hear you and offer love. And I hope you find moments of joy going forward.
Hugs to You, Anne Moss! 🩵
Hugs accepted.
Hugs! I rarely have a trauma dream but can relate to your experience. And I too feel a little sad after I awake from a dream about what I wish could be.
Thank you Joyce.