There are many things I remember about the day my son, Tom, died.
I remember the last thing I said to him and his reply. I have the last text he sent me about the books he ordered for his next quarter at college and the last text I sent to him when he was not home when expected.
I remember calling his dad and asking if he knew where Tom was because he wasn’t home yet. I remember his return call telling me Tom was dead and me arguing with him over the phone that Tom was sleeping and that he couldn’t be dead, and his dad repeating over and over he was not sleeping.
I remember driving to Tom’s dad house shaking and wailing in disbelief and walking up to the house with strangers watching me from a distance with bowed heads and hushed voices.
I remember saying I could not face seeing him in that state but still climbing the stairs to his room, reading the short hand-written warning note on the door, and seeing him lying before me. I remember many of the horrible and vivid details of the scene which, although dampened by PTSD counseling, still haunt me.
I remember sitting on the front stoop of the house wailing with my husband, LJ, by my side, both of us in disbelief and not truly understanding the significance of how our lives were going to change and then making calls to key people in our lives.
I remember emergency personnel moving us to the backyard so we would not see Tom’s body being wheeled down the stairs but looking through the glass door and catching sight of the yellow body bag rushing by.
One thing I do not remember was the moment our family decided to be honest with our extended family, friends, and community about how Tom died. I know we had that brief conversation, but I can’t remember if it took place in the kitchen, dining room, back patio, or front yard. I know it was short, because none of us wanted to be anything but honest so the decision came quickly. And I do know that one important decision has impacted my healing process and my life.
Initially, it was difficult to accept our son died by suicide. I immediately felt 100% at fault for his death. However, through extensive counseling and much research, I now better understand depression’s tie to suicide. I am grateful I do not live in fear of the truth of Tom’s death being found out because there is nothing to hide. There is no shame in his illness or his passing. Our upfront honesty freed us to travel our grief journey openly.
As I walk through my life After, I vacillate between fearing people see and judge me as a mother who lost her son to suicide and hoping they do, because that means they have not forgotten Tom, and it might give me the opportunity to talk with them about our wonderful son and the illness which took him.
Tom’s death changed the course of my life journey. Our loss compelled me to become better 
educated about mental illness and suicide and called me to become a public advocate and educator around prevention and safe messaging and an informal counselor for parents who are concerned about their own children. (I ALWAYS refer people to experts after our initial conversation.) I also meet with loss survivors, so they do not feel alone on this painful journey.
I am grateful our community lovingly embraced us early on, so I am strong and empowered enough to give back through advocacy and education as a part of my healing process. Because we chose transparency, we have presented to more than a thousand people over three years regarding suicide prevention, safe messaging, and how best to speak with those who have lost a loved one to suicide. In return, we feel blessed when people contact us and share how our story started conversations with their loves ones or opened their eyes to their own situation allowing numerous opportunities for intervention. We have a responsibility to use Tom’s story as a way to educate others, and I am proud it is his legacy.
©2020 Revised
©2017
It is nearing the second anniversary since my son went to heaven. This angel anniversary is much harder than I recall going through the first-year marker. Last year there was more support as the day came and went. It is quiet now, and I have more time with my thoughts and memories. I recall every detail of the days and weeks before his death, noting the last conversations and time we were together. I am noticing the length of the days, and warmer temperatures that occurred around his death. I recall the trauma of the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night that came to me recently in a dream. Two years ago, it was the police telling us my son had died in his apartment from suicide. Now, I was in a deep sleep, slowly awaking from the thought I heard the door-bell ring again. I did not want to come to consciousness because it might mean something else bad happened, and I could not handle losing my surviving daughter. I forced myself awake but found no sign of anyone at the door. Sitting up the rest of the night, I waited until the appropriate time to call my daughter to make sure she was safe. There are many books on overcoming trauma and grief from the loss of a loved one. Each of the journeys is unique. I find it helpful to connect with others through stories of our lives. I share my story at lifewithoutmychild.com
Have you thought about doing a TED talk ? It sounds like your presentation is an excellent mix of research and personal experience. Although I am a parent who lost a child to suicide, I struggle to find the words and/or the answers to the questions of other parents. I’d love to hear your presentation!
Very very move moving and accurate piece Kimberly. It is very reminiscent of what my parents went through when my brother died from an accident 25 years ago. He was 24 years old and that experience was paralyzing for them and our whole family. I cannot fathom how excruciating this experience must have been for you and your family. But you are clearly a strong and compassionate person who is blessed with a loving support system. Thank you so much for the incredible work that you do.
I still think about suicide often but I also do not wish to inflict any residual pain to the few people who inexplicably want to remain associated with me. If I ever did pursue that route, I would want to make sure that anyone in my life who still cares would have to endure too much sadness. I severely doubt that would be an issue since being in my 50s basically means my life is over anyway. But thanks to the great people of this site including yourself I am able to cope with being the horrible person I am and continue living. God Bless You!
I absolutely loved the way you presented the “timeline” of how things transpired. I didn’t lose a child, my husband hung himself in our home, but nonetheless, I could so relate to how you responded to the news, seeing Tom, being directed by the emergency personnel, etc. It’s a series of moments that will forever be etched in all our psyches. Thank you for sharing yours with us.
Kimberly, i admire your courage. Choosing to not hide the truth of how your Angel went to Heaven.
I am also a mother of a son (25yrs) who died by suicide in July 2019.
So, i feel your words clearly.
I am very interested to know about how you started advocating for prevention and better awareness of mental illness.
I live in kenya/Africa. Suicide is illegal and associated with a lot of Stigma. Here it is not talked about openly and many Families are choking with this secret.
Since i cannot write my email address here, i allow
‘Our side of suicide’ to share it with you if you’d like to contact me.
Would be grateful if you’d accepte to be my mentor and guide. Teaching me on how to spread the awareness.
I too feel it my responsibility to educate people in Kenya on ways of identifying and dealing with signs of mental health.
Ideally I’d like to start with schools.
Thank you for sharing.