Surviving Emile's Death

My son died by suicide, but he never left me.

This quilt was made by a friend of mine who also lost a child to suicide.

The day I lost my beautiful son, Emile, to suicide, I went completely insane. I couldn’t sleep for months. I searched everything I could find about hanging. I was obsessed with the way he died. It felt as if I was abducted and dumped on an unknown planet. I didn’t understand what anyone was saying. How do you explain in words that your life ceased to exist? My thoughts were racing. Who caused this? I contacted everyone I knew who could tell me what was happening in his life. What was he hiding? Did I cause this?

Time lost all meaning because all I could think about was my son. I never knew you could hurt this much. Nothing I experienced in my life could prepare me for this hell. It felt like a steel claw reached into my chest and ripped my heart to shreds. The pain was so intense that there were days I could barely breathe.

I drove around in the middle of the night for hours, searching for lord knows what. Nothing made sense to me. I had to find the answers to my question, or I would lose my mind. The heartbreaking thing is that there are no answers. Even parents who had a last letter from their children still didn’t have answers. For months, I only existed, life around me went by in a blur of tears.

One night, after spending hours on the internet, I found an email support group called Parents Of Suicide. They saved my life. I could share my insane emotions and thoughts with them, and they didn’t judge me. They knew exactly what I was living. With their support, I found many ways to cope and work through my grief. Without these grieving parents, I don’t think I would have survived.

I knew I had to get professional help, because my depression became all-consuming. Fortunately, I found a psychologist who practiced Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. He taught me to control my mind, instead of allowing it to control me. The shock of seeing my son’s lifeless body under the tree caused dissociation, and I found an amazing trauma therapist to bring me back to myself.

Compassionate friends, a support group for bereavement, helped me tremendously as well. They put me in touch with a medium whom I consulted on my son’s 21^st birthday. She provided me with information about him that wasn’t publicly known. I am still skeptical about it, but at the time, I was grasping at any straws.

Emile died on the 5^th of February, and his birthday is on the 27^th of March. This time of the year, even after all this time, is difficult for me. I have learned to treasure the beautiful memories, instead of dwelling on his death. He wasn’t only my son, he was my best friend.

Emile was a tortured and beautiful soul. Not only was he beautiful on the outside, but he had a gorgeous heart. He taught me so much about myself. Nobody in this world has ever looked at me the way my son did. The love shone from his eyes. I’ve received so many precious signs from him over the years. He didn’t leave me, he only changed form. I know, when it is my time to go, he will be there to welcome me home.

Namaste