A Reader’s Response to Suicide Prevention Month and the Needs of Grievers with Complex Challenges After Suicide
For the past several months I’ve worn my brightly colored bracelets that symbolize suicide awareness/suicide prevention and mental health awareness. During the month of September, national suicide and prevention/awareness month, I refused to wear these reminders.
My son Adam died of suicide on Saturday, July 30, 2022, at 3:14 am in the parking lot of a 7-11, just a few blocks from my home. The call last month for awareness and prevention was so loud in my head that it was thunderous. Every day through social media, news, and public officials, I would hear the daily calls for greater access to mental health resources and improved treatment options. But this all came too late for my son. It was as though I was being offered a fire extinguisher after my house had already burned to the ground.
After Adam’s death I knew I needed help. Intervention. I didn’t believe I could survive such a painful and traumatic loss. Truth be told: 99.9% of me didn’t want to. Fortunately, I was able to recognize that I needed help. But for many of us, actually reaching out for it isn’t always an easy thing to do. Knowing that our story might not be understood by others makes the grief that much more difficult to carry.
There are so many stories of suicide. Too many families and relationships touched by suicide loss. But what I am not hearing is a story like mine. There haven’t been any “me too” moments. Perhaps it is because my son’s suicide was at the hands of police officers after he led them on a high-speed chase. Throughout his adult life he dealt with mental illness and drug addiction. We tried to get him help but he wasn’t ready. He was doing fine, until he wasn’t. As hard as it has been for me to share my story with trusted friends, supportive family members, and compassionate clinicians, my story and many others like mine are rarely heard. We experience a disenfranchised grief: silent, lonely, and disconnected. Unable to grieve openly. This isn't ok.
The stories of suicide loss that make me the most angry are the ones where the loved one is found by a family member. I get upset when I hear them recall how they found their loved one, held them and said goodbye, even if they were already gone. I am heartbroken because I never had the chance to hold Adam or say goodbye. I envy those who did, and my heart also goes out to them. I held the hand of many of my loved ones that have passed as they took their last breath. I was denied that with my son Adam. My faith in God left with Adam that day.
The morning of July 29, 2022, was the last time I saw Adam alive. That evening I received a text message that I didn’t check until it was too late. It read “I love you it’s over watch the news”. The car chase and his death were televised. By the time I had figured out what was going on and made it to the scene, it was over. My son lay motionless in the driver's seat of a white van, I did not then, nor will I ever blame the police officers for what happened. They did their job. Things could have gotten worse if they allowed Adam to leave the parking lot and continue driving.
I hear about families that lost a child/loved one and the outpouring of help is incredible, beautiful. That didn’t happen for me or my children (I adopted two of Adam’s children, my grandchildren, several years earlier). My niece drove me home and I had to tell my then 10- and 12-year-old what happened to their dad. And then, there I was, alone to try and process what I had just witnessed. I needed help but who was going to want to help me? The mother of a criminal. In the neighborhood there were people that said Adam deserved it for running from the police. So, it was best to just keep my mouth shut and figure it out on my own. I didn’t feel like I deserved any help, even if I wasn’t the one that committed the crime. And by help, I mean comfort. I needed someone to sit with me in my grief. I was in my darkest hour, and I needed a connection with another human being.
Adam’s death has changed me and as strange as this may sound, it has changed me for the better. I found my voice that I didn’t have before. I have learned to make positive connections to people I would not have approached on my own. I have even cut connections to people that were not good for me. I don’t want this to sound insensitive, but Adam’s death has also been a relief. It took a while for me to admit this, and I am still not comfortable with this thought. But I no longer have to fear for him or be in fear of him. He was funny and curious and had a gentle and loving soul, he was an awesome kid! I really miss that. But as an adult he made some terrible choices and decisions which may have cost him his life.
My reason for writing this is to bring attention to the fact that everyone needs someone in their darkest hour. Everyone needs a lifeline for help. There is always someone left behind that is dealing with the fallout from a suicide. I can’t be the only mother who lost a son in such a gruesome way. When someone dies during a crime, what happens to the family? Are they offered help? I worry about the other moms that are left to deal with the fallout on their own. There are many stories out there just like mine and Adam’s and they need to be heard. It’s been one year and two months since I lost my son and friend. I still hurt every single day. I tell everyone I’m fine or I’m doing ok but I’m not and I never will be. I am learning to live with what happened. It is woven into every cell of my body. A huge part of me died with my son that day.
There are millions of us who have loved ones who have interactions with or have been impacted by the criminal justice system. Our stories and our need for support are just as important as those who have not interacted with the law. The stigmas in our society around having a criminal record and/or struggles with mental health and substance use need to stop. Our families need to be heard, seen, and understood.
The day Adam died I started on a journey I had never wanted to embark on. I resisted it for a long time. I didn’t want to heal. I am learning to trust this journey. The path is not always easy. But I am beginning to thrive, because I have to, I need to, and I want to.
Now that October has arrived, I will wear my bracelets again. They represent heartbreak and hope. Adam will live in my heart forever and I love to talk about him to anyone who cares to listen.
My son Adam was 35 years old when he died.
My son Adam was covered in a lot of tattoos.
My son Adam had a police record.
My son Adam struggled with drug addiction.
My son Adam suffered from mental illness.
My son Adam died while committing a crime.
And yet,
Adam was a son, a grandson, a cousin, a father, a friend.
Adam’s absence is felt in the core of my soul and beyond.
My son Adam’s death does not define his life. Nor does it define mine.
Heather Renfroe
Therapy Heals is so grateful to Heather for submitting this article. Regardless of the circumstances, we all need love, comfort, support, and guidance after the sudden or unexpected death of a loved one. Thank you to Heather for reminding us that loved ones with mental health problems, history of addiction, and/or criminal backgrounds also face complex challenges in their grief and require additional grief support.
Monthly Newsletter: October 2023
Now that October has arrived, many of us are keenly aware that the holidays will soon be upon us. While the holidays are meant to be a time to celebrate with family, when you have experienced the loss of a loved one you may be struggling just to get through the day. Memories of past years, your traditions, and expectations can trigger overwhelming grief. But you do not need to struggle alone throughout the holiday season. To meet the needs of our clients, Therapy Heals is pleased to announce the launch of our annual Holiday Support Program this November.
