My son died by suicide six years ago. Since his passing, I knew I would write his story someday. However, I’ve debated whether or not I should share this….but, here I am.

A couple of months prior to his death, he had moved most of his belongings to my house. I needed answers and was convinced I’d find the answers in his things. So, I started going through everything, and I found the following letter…..

Alright, someone, I love you. I love the whole family. Sure, I do act out in different ways. I don’t talk about my feelings because I don’t want to be some emotional freak show. But I can write them down. I’ll probably never talk about them, though. If i can write them down, I’m okay with that.

I’m sorry I’m not the perfect child. You say you don’t want that, but I know you do. And I’m never gonna get there or be that kid. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with life. It kinda scares me sometimes….sometimes I do just want to end it. I feel like there is no reason for me.

I don’t like to work or go hard at anything. Nothing comes easy to me other than screwing around, and not being watched. I want to, sometimes, just leave and go do something. I want to be a billionaire and travel the world. I really want to travel the world, but I don’t know where I’m gonna get the money. You have to have a job to get money, but I don’t know what I’m gonna do with life.

I want to do a whole bunch of things, but I don’t know how or when I’m going to be able to do those things. I’m sorry for anything I did that I couldn’t be as good as you or anyone else. I’m sorry yall are reading this….but hey, things happen, goodbye.

Tell everyone that I have ever talked to for making their life probably worse. Tell ‘her’ that I really did love her and wish her the best. — DW

Reading this, my knees buckled, ‘Why, oh why, did he have to die!’ As they say:

‘your wings were ready, but my heart was not.’

For six long years, I’ve been asking:

Why?

There hasn’t been a day in which my heart hasn’t mourned for him. And even after all these years, a huge wave of sadness rushes through me when I look at photos of him or if I happen to run into a friend of his. Anything can trigger my memories of him….anything, but what really gets me is seeing all my boys together, except him. He should be here!

When I see his oldest brother deep in thought at family gatherings, I know he’s thinking about him….the very thing I think about…..

He should be here.

If you want the truth, I avoid photos of my son…he was only 17. I don’t want to avoid the photos…..but, I have no choice. I’m afraid I will lose my sanity. I avoid talking about him as well. After he first passed away, I wanted to talk about him. Somehow, it just made me feel better.

That ‘feeling better’ has faded. Now, i feel nothing, but gut-wrenching pain when he gets brought up.

And, I feel awful for it!

Right away, after his death, I dove head-first into learning more about suicide. I went to classes, grief groups, and counseling. I got heavily involved suicide prevention and awareness, even starting a suicide nonprofit. I studied the causes and effects, the ACE training program through an Army friend, and what signs to look for if someone were considering suicide. I went through the two-day ASIST program.

But, none of it helped me understand why MY CHILD took his life.

I looked for someone…something…to blame, although, I know, nothing/nobody is to blame. I was angry.

And I am still angry. If I’m going to be honest, I fluctuate through all the stages of grief. Anger. Sadness. Denial. Bargaining. Acceptance.

Will the stages ever reach a stopping point?

Or, will I remain in this fluctuating state of grief for the rest of my life?

In the beginning, all the support groups, training professionals, friends, family, etc. used to tell me that it would get easier…that my son’s death would get easier.

They lied.

It hasn’t gotten easier. I’m on a constant seesaw, flipping back and forth between sadness and anger. And the guilt is so damn heavy. Some days, I tell myself, ‘Okay, Shannon, you can do this. It’s not bad today.’ And the next, I’m back two steps again.

What I have come to believe ‘it gets easier’ to mean is….forgetting. If you completely forget the person you lost existed then you are healed.

But, I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget him. I carried him in my womb for nine months. I birthed him and loved him more than I loved myself for seventeen years. He will forever be etched into the very fiber of my being. How does one just forget?

I taught myself to take it day by day. And sometimes, just one day is a feat.

I am a suicide loss survivor.