Understanding Loss: Reflections on My Son’s Memorial

Trigger warning: Suicide

It’s been 7 weeks since I walked into my son’s room and found him hanging from an orange extension cord. It’s been 7 weeks since I screamed for Brian and he somehow heard me through sink water running and 3 closed doors. It’s been 7 weeks since I abruptly told Antwan that his brother was dead. And it’s been 7 weeks since I watched my life unravel from my front porch.

We had the memorial 2 weeks ago. It went off without a hitch. So many people that I wasn’t expecting came. And some that I was expecting. I am so grateful to all of them. I remember sitting there watching the slideshow video that I had put together and verbally captioning the pictures. “That’s when William graduated from 5th grade.” “That’s he and his best friend at the gym.”

Surreal isn’t strong enough a word.

Thank You For Coming To My Son’s Memorial Service

I remember trying to keep things light when people started to show up, as is my impulse. I tried to make stupid jokes because it’s what I do. But they weren’t funny and I wasn’t funny. I don’t know why I thought anyone was expecting me to entertain them anyway. That’s not why they were there.

So I stuck to a lot of “Thank you for coming.” and walked down the aisle when it was time.

I remember sitting there, pretending like I was fine. I don’t know if I was convincing but I had definitely convinced myself. I thought I was ok. It’s all good, I got this. I’m probably already starting to get past this. He is at peace, isn’t that cool?

But then I got up to speak. I’m not going to lie, I was very proud of myself for finding the courage to do that. But then when I sat down, I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t in fact fine. I don’t know why I thought I was supposed to be. It’s not like anyone expected me to be.

So I finally fell apart.

Not like I hadn’t already but I had been holding it at bay for the last several days while focusing on other drama in our lives, worrying about my living children and trying to plan this memorial with Brian. But, I guess somewhere in me, I knew it was time or it was past time, really. It was going to happen, no matter what.

So I cried. And then I cried some more. I was painfully aware that it was “me.” I was the mother who lost her child. How on earth could this be me? It made no sense at all. It still doesn’t. How could I be sitting in the front row at a damn funeral home, crying over my dead son?

Why Did My Son Choose To Die?

I remember asking Brian, rather dramatically, I have to admit, “Why did he leave us??”

Brian, with indescribable pain in his voice, said “I don’t know” as he hugged me. I have felt close to that man many, many times in my life but this was one of the moments when I have felt the closest. Crappy reason but still, I sure do love him.

I will never really know why William left us? Was it because he was depressed? Was it because he made a bad choice that he was hiding from? Did he really think that we were better off without him?

I don’t know.

Did he think that things would be ok without him? Because they aren’t.

Time To Move On

Brian and I talk about this a lot. How do we move on? How do we find joy? How do we experience any moment without the awareness that something is missing? I don’t think you do, honestly. Not completely. I have found some peace over losing my parents. As much as it sucks, losing parents is part of the natural progression of things. It’s something that you grow up knowing that you will have to deal with one day.

You are not supposed to lose a child. You’re just not. And yet, here we are. We are parents who have lost a child. I don’t want that to be part of my identity but it is, now and forever.

So how do you move on? I have no idea. How do you allow yourself the time to grieve when the world doesn’t really want to give it to you? Not the people, mind you. You will never hear me complain about the people in our lives. They have been everything to us. But the world doesn’t stop. Brian has been back to work for a month and he is emotionally exhausted every day. I went back to work today and I just want to curl up in a ball and cry. But that will have to wait because the bills won’t. So we will do what the rest of the world does. We will work and pay our bills and make small talk with cashiers at the gas station. We will take it one day at a time. But make no mistake, I hate these days and I hate the minutes and I hate the breaths. And I hate this world without William.

For more on our story, you can read about it here: Suicide And The Ones Left Behind

And again! If you are struggling, please seek help. Please. Call the suicide prevention line. Let them help you.