During the immediate aftermath of my loss, I was in a state of shock. I could not believe something like this was happening to me. Being overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, sorrow, anger, and shame did not allow me to take in everything that was going on around me. The amount of outpouring of condolences was surprising. This may seem like a positive thing, but when you are in the midst of such a crisis, it feels like a bombardment of other peoples’ emotions.

I half-heartedly read each condolence card, letter, e-mail, text, and social media message. I was not ungrateful, but rather I felt my new appalling reality sinking in with every message I read. “So sorry for your loss.” “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.” “He is in a better place now.” “You are in our thoughts and prayers.” There was much sympathy being expressed, but did any of these people really understand what I was going through?

Sympathy made me only feel worse about my circumstances. What I desperately needed instead was some empathy.

And as these thoughts sprung in my mind, I opened a card. It had flowers on the cover along with the standard printed condolence message, but it contained something more . . . something that no other message provided. “I have a friend who lost her beautiful teenage son many years ago. Her name is Deb and her phone number is –-****. Feel free to call her if you would like someone to talk to about your loss.” My heart jumped! This was it … this is what I needed and secretly wished would come my way – somebody who could empathize with my loss. I immediately reached for my phone. Then in that instance I felt fear and self-doubt creeping into my thoughts. “You can’t call her; you don’t even know her.” “She probably lost her son to sickness or an accident.” “If she knew how you lost Izzy, she would be mortified.” After wrestling with these negative thoughts, I mustered up the nerve to send Deb a text message. I could not call her because at this point I could not last a minute without crying. I quickly typed, “This is Gina, I just lost my son. I got your number from someone who said you lost a son too” and immediately hit send. She sent a message back to me asking if I would like to meet somewhere for coffee. I explained that I am not ready to go in public because all I do is cry all day. She offered to visit me at my house instead. I took her up on that offer. This is when I learned that she too had lost her son to suicide.

Deb lost her beloved son, Josh, 16 years ago when he was only 14 years old. She is driven to help others. She does this through her profession as a massage therapist and also by her outreach work with individuals like me who have lost someone to suicide. She has been doing this work for many years and has recently started a local support group in the city where she lives. Of all the mothers I met, she is the mother who has lived the longest without her son. Deb is honest about her highs and lows from the past almost two decades of learning to be a survivor. As you read more of our conversations, you will recognize that she had gained deep insight from her tragedy and continues to grow from it.