Surviving Suicide Loss






November 20, 2021, is International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day. In honor of this day, we’ve invited Erin Gallagher, a Program Manager with This Is My Brave who was recently announced to be the incoming Interim Executive Director of the organization, to write about her experiences as a suicide loss survivor. In this piece, she reflects on the death of her son Jay, who died nearly six years ago at the age of 18. 











As a mother who lost her beloved son to suicide, I have described the grief journey as one of being dumped into a jungle where the trees and foliage are so densely packed that all that surrounds you is darkness. In the days and months after Jay’s death, I lay alone, stuck in the darkness, terrified of these new surroundings, wondering when I would be returned to more familiar landscapes.





This is what I wrote of the space at that time:





So dark is it here that I have no concept of east or west, day or night, hot or cold. Even up or down is indiscernible and vertigo topples me if I attempt to move. My sense of self and world order are shattered. I have arrived in the jungle of despair and I am unable to gain any perspective within it. And frankly, I don’t want to.





Lying in the depths of this lonely place, unable to move, there is nothing left to do but think. My mind races and rages against all of it.





    I will not embrace this.





               I will not live wholly and fully here.





                                           I will not love as deeply,





                                                              give as completely,





                                                  laugh as heartily.





                               I will not.





                My son is gone. My world is shattered. I reject it all.





Today, nearly six years after my son’s death, I have this to report: I was never returned to familiar landscapes; my life is and will always be carried out in this new land where I was unceremoniously ushered against my will that horrible winter morning.





I can also report that I have slowly (although reluctantly) acclimated to my new surroundings. This place is no longer as terrifying to me as it once was. While the foliage is just as dense, my eyes have adjusted, allowing me to see better now in this shrouded space. Where, once, all I saw was nothingness, now I’m able to discern some beauty in this landscape — the subtle play of light within the shadows reveals depths of splendor that I never previously experienced.





My equilibrium was eventually restored and that has allowed me to move about and explore. I have met other inhabitants of this land and together we’ve forged bonds over our shared experiences of loss, suffering, acclimation and healing. Here, I discovered that life still retains some beauty, even in the wake of tragic loss. I have learned to love and to laugh and although it is different, I have found a certain joy in my existence. I am grateful for my new perspective if not for the circumstances that forced me to find it. I have hope that you can find this too.









If you have endured the loss of a loved one to suicide, or if you know someone who has, please know that you can survive, although it does take time. 





And if you are feeling overwhelmed or hopeless — or if you know someone who is feeling this way — please know that help is available. For immediate assistance, call 1-800-273-8255 or text STORY to 741741.