My son committed suicide.
He turned seventeen in January and took his life in May.
He was smart. He was kind. He was funny. He had a huge heart, loved his family, babied his truck, hated school and loved the wrong girl. He had a job, was a beginning guitar player, dabbled in photography, and had amazing talent in art, sketching.
To the world he may have been just another kid, but to me, he was my world.
To the world, he may have just taken his life, but to me his life was taken and a piece of my heart went with him.
The evening he died, I wasn’t with him.
Not my choice.
By the time I seen him again, he had already been dead for almost a week and was shrouded (covered in plastic) lying in his coffin.
Not my choice.
I don’t have any horrible, blood-stained images or a ride to the hospital in an ambulance with him hooked to machines to keep him alive kind of stories to tell.
My last memory with my son is one day before his death when I gave him a ride to work.
My last ‘words’ with him consist of a short text messaging conversation concerning an issue he was dealing with and telling him I love him.
These are my truths.
My realities are a little different.
The reality is:
I loved my son, love him still. His pain was my pain. His happiness was my happiness. His tears, mine. His joy, mine. I carried him for 9 months. I went through labor and delivery to bring that sweet child of mine into this world. Everything he felt, I felt in the very depths of my heart.
So, I wonder why? Why my son? Why wasn’t my love enough to save him?
I also wonder how? How did he go from a happy, smily faced child to a guarded, confused teenager?
And I ask myself, what changed? What in his life changed drastically enough for him to believe suicide was his only way out?
A truth in his life is that he was never diagnosed with mental problems. He was never diagnosed with depression or anxiety or any other mental issue.
The reality of his suicide is that I will forever be stuck where I am now, wondering, confused, without answers.
He’s in my dreams every night. He’s in every thought throughout my days.
The reality is I have to live with the pain of losing him while knowing I couldn’t make his pain better.
I carry guilt every day that I am still here but he isn’t.
The reality is, sometimes the pain of losing him gets so heavy that I can’t function, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t put one foot in front of the other, but I find a way to get through the hour or the day.
The reality is it’s one day at a time because that’s all my mind can manage.
The reality is I will never be able to give him another hug or tell him he’s somebody. I will never again hear his laugh or remind him to put his clothes in the hamper.
The reality is he’s dead because he took his life.
The reality is that he’s dead and it hurts. It hurts so deep within me that now pain will be my normal.
My son was not diagnosed with mental illness but it seems that when speaking of suicide, its almost always attributed to mental illness.
The reality is that suicide can happen to anyone anywhere at anytime regardless of mental status (illness or not).
Another reality is that mere mention of suicide threats is and should be taken seriously. Always!
Suicide is not a joke. It’s not funny.
It’s a scary, life-changing tragedy that affects everyone. It’s not taboo or anything to be ashamed of. It’s an issue that needs to be brought to light rather than ignored.
The reality of suicide is that happens not only because of mental illness but also because the individual just wants the pain to end.
My son took his life because nobody was listening to his silent cries. And his unshed tears were being ignored. Not by me, but by those I reported my concerns too.
This reality does not have to be yours or anyone you know. You can contact the National Suicide Hotline
Available 24 hours everyday.
I ask that if you or anyone you know is in danger of suicide please reach out to for help.
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, counselor, psychologist, or psychiatrist. I do not hold a Masters degree in any type of medicine. I do not hold a Masters degree at all. I am simply a mother who lost a son to suicide and do not want to see another mother suffer the same loss.