How did it come to this?

I always fancied myself a bit of a writer. But not like this. Maybe a writer of children’s stories like the ones I would sit and make up with the kids. Never ever did I imagine it would be like this.

On March 21st 2021, my world crumbled. Everything I knew, or thought I knew, was ripped out from under me. I found my son dead. He had taken his own life. He would have been 23 on 6th April. My son’s name is Liam. A beautiful name for a beautiful individual.

My life became a ‘before’ and ‘after’. I absolutely did not want to be involved in the ‘after’ and quite frankly, I am not completely sure how I am still here, or if this is even real. Is this my life now? Most of the time I vehemently refuse to believe that it is. I think this is my minds way of protecting me.

I have spent the last 10 weeks on a roller coaster of unimaginable hell. There have been many days I have wanted to take my own life, and days where I thought I would almost certainly die on the spot from a broken heart. But I am still here, for now.

I have found that this journey is not only horrendous but it is incredibly lonely. I have found that those who you expect to be there for might not be, and the people you least expect to hear from, can be the ones reach out. I have found comfort in online groups and conversations with other people who have been bereaved by suicide.

The most helpful source of support, for me, has been to hear stories of other parents who have expressed their struggle in all its raw ugliness and are still here to keep sharing. The ones who acknowledge this for what it is; the absolute worst. What I do not find helpful, is professionals and well meaning people offering platitudes and telling me this will be okay, that it will get better. Because it won’t. There is no better and there is no okay, not for me anyway, but maybe there is different, and maybe the different is something that we can bear? And maybe this different is more bearable together?

And this is the reason for this blog. I want to share my story, in all its rawness. I want you to see and hear how I felt from that moment to now and for as long as I am able to continue. Is what I felt and continue to feel normal? What even is normal anymore? There is no normal anymore that I can see. Maybe this could be described as normal in the aftermath of grief by suicide? A different kind of crazy normal where grief manifests in the oddest of ways. In ways that become so consuming that you aren’t sure you’ll make it out alive. But maybe you’ll feel better able to go with these crazy normal feelings of grief and feel less crazy and a little less alone. I hope anyway.

Even if I was particularly articulate, which I am not, there are no words that I could make use of that would properly give the feelings of this kind of loss any justice. There are just not the words. I know this and I know you know this. And together we get it in way that no one else ever could.

I don’t particularly know what I am doing, both with this blog and with my life in general anymore. I am completely winging it. I hope that journaling so openly like this will help me get through this nightmare and also help others who are experiencing loss. But as with my journey of life with Liam, we were just winging it together.

It will likely be messy and all over the place. But I guess that’s just life.