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After a solid nap, both children were ready to take on the playground at our local school. Yellow and oranges hues covered the blacktop driveway, and clouds blanketed the sky as I buckled them both into their car seats. It was my brother, who said Dad had called him at work to tell him he had to come home. Worry filled his voice, but for some reason, I felt calm. The children and I spent the next 45 minutes on the playground. Although I tried to stay present, my mind drifted. I figured something had happened to my grandmother.

Maybe that was my brain protecting me from what it ultimately knew had to be true. We pulled into the long driveway at home a little over an hour after the phone call. It was still light out, even though it was the end of October.

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It was unusually early for them to be home from work. I took the children out of their car seats and headed for the door. I was met in the kitchen by my mother-in-law, who had clearly been crying. The grandfather clock confirmed the time with its chime — She told me she was taking the children and that Pop needed me downstairs. I then stood in our dark basement, surrounded by the feng shui placement of our two sofas.

The days and months after that are a blur. My beautiful mother was gone. So many questions lingered. Could I have stopped this? Did I try hard enough? Did she know I loved her? These are the looming questions survivors of suicide loss commonly ask themselves. It was a beautiful day in Riverside Park and a wonderful route along the Hudson River. These walks give me a place to grieve with others who know my specific brand of pain.

I especially feel this during the Overnight Walks, where a few thousand suicide survivors walk from dusk until dawn to raise awareness. Losing a loved one to suicide can be lonely. Listening to another survivor talk about their loved one, share stories of their life and even the difficult details of their death helps us both: we learn we are not alone. My hope is always to help someone who is beginning their journey of grief to see they have the strength and the ability to survive their loss.

I decided I was concerned enough to call her psychiatrist. After putting my four-year-old and three-year-old down for a nap, I hurried back to the phone. Would knowing her first name be enough?

The Grandfather Clock

It was , and none of us were nearly as savvy with Google as we are now. I tried calling my best friend, who still lived in the town where we grew up, to see if she could help. For some reason, I never thought to call my father. Maybe I was afraid of worrying him unnecessarily.

Either way, the tasks of the afternoon took over, and I decided to wait and call Mom back that night. The phone call came around pm.

After a solid nap, both children were ready to take on the playground at our local school. Yellow and oranges hues covered the blacktop driveway, and clouds blanketed the sky as I buckled them both into their car seats. It was my brother, who said Dad had called him at work to tell him he had to come home. Worry filled his voice, but for some reason, I felt calm.


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The children and I spent the next 45 minutes on the playground. Although I tried to stay present, my mind drifted.

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I figured something had happened to my grandmother. Maybe that was my brain protecting me from what it ultimately knew had to be true. We pulled into the long driveway at home a little over an hour after the phone call.

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It was still light out, even though it was the end of October. It was unusually early for them to be home from work. I took the children out of their car seats and headed for the door.


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I was met in the kitchen by my mother-in-law, who had clearly been crying. The grandfather clock confirmed the time with its chime — She told me she was taking the children and that Pop needed me downstairs. I then stood in our dark basement, surrounded by the feng shui placement of our two sofas.

The days and months after that are a blur. My beautiful mother was gone.


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  8. So many questions lingered. Could I have stopped this?