In 2014, I started a non profit organization that exists to be an instillation of hope to people personally impacted by a suicide loss. I love love love what I do.
Sometimes people ask, “isn’t doing what you do like ripping the bandage off over and over and over?” My answer is simple: No, it is not.
I hate more than anything that my boy, the most important person in the world to me, my pride and joy, died by suicide. It’s sickening and horrible and I miss him every day all day. The heartache is real and it will always be part of me on this side of heaven.
I sometimes hear, “I couldn’t do what you do, I’ve decided I don’t want my parent’s/child’s/spouse’s/sibling’s suicide to define me.” This is a slap in the face. Stop saying that. There is no “wrong” way to grieve and there is no “wrong” way to integrate the loss into your life.
I pause sometimes and I think about other options for how I can spend the final 1/3 of my life. Nothing else interests me. Nothing. I believe God entrusted me with this gift of suffering so I could grow from it and care for others. Who the hell calls losing their son to suicide a “gift?” Gross. I don’t know what to say… it’s what I believe. The ache is real and I still have complicated and intense emotions AND I’m confident I’m where God wants me. There’s a peace in knowing that. A peace I never experienced before. My son is safe in our Father’s arms. I will have eternity with him. For now, I give my agenda over to God and He continually gives me confidence that I’m right where He wants me.
I have the greatest son in the world. Just look at that face. I will be with him again. I love you so much, baby.