Today is seven years of this Quiet Pain. Seven years since he departed.
Losing my son Caleb to suicide at 21 ripped my world apart. It’s not just the ache of him being gone; it’s all the tangled feelings that come with it—sorrow, confusion, anger, and a heavy dose of “what if.” This kind of grief is a beast, and it’s one I wrestle with mostly alone. I want to share what it’s like for parents like me, hoping it helps someone else feel seen or gives others a glimpse into this quiet, messy pain.
A Different Kind of Grief
When you lose a kid to suicide, it’s not just their absence that hits you. It’s the shock of how they left, the questions that haunt you: “Why didn’t I see it coming? Could I have done something?” These eat at you, making every day a battle to just keep going. Research calls this disenfranchised grief, a fancy term for when folks don’t quite get your pain or know how to handle it. If your child dies from cancer or a car wreck, people rally with casseroles and sympathy cards. But suicide? It’s like the world gets awkward, and suddenly, you’re grieving in a bubble. Friends and family might pull back, not because they don’t care, but because they’re stumped on what to say. That silence stings, leaving you feeling like you’re carrying this alone.
The Weight of “What If”
The guilt is a gut-punch. Even though I knew Caleb had struggled with his mental health, he was private about its depth; I didn’t see it coming. I keep replaying moments, wondering if I missed a sign, if I could’ve said something different. A study in the Journal of Loss and Trauma says parents after suicide often drown in self-blame, even when clear warnings are rare. It’s like you’re stuck in a loop, questioning your every move as a parent. The truth? Suicide is sneaky, and no one’s got a crystal ball. But knowing that doesn’t make the guilt any lighter—it’s just part of this messy grief.
When Marriage Feels the Strain
This kind of loss can shake a marriage to its core. My wife and I, we grieve differently. That mismatch can feel like we’re on different planets. Research backs this up—suicide loss amps up the strain on couples, with each partner processing in their own way Grief and Loss in Marriage. Sometimes, it’s hard to bridge that gap, and you end up feeling alone even next to the person who’s supposed to get you the most. It takes work to keep connected, to not let the pain push you apart.
A Grief Without End
Unlike other losses where folks expect you to “move on” after a year or two, suicide grief doesn’t play by those rules. It’s like a wave that crashes back when you least expect it—seeing a kid Caleb’s age at the store, or a random memory of his laugh. There’s no neat closure, no finish line. The world keeps spinning, but you’re stuck, and when friends start nudging you to “get better,” it can feel like they’re speaking a different language. WhatsYourGrief says this ongoing pain is normal, and faith can be a lifeline, even when I’m wrestling with questions like, “Why, God?”
Finding a Way to Keep Going
If you’re walking this road, you’re not alone, even if it feels that way. I’ve found comfort in connecting with others who get it—folks in grief groups, like Survivors of Suicide, or a therapist who knows the suicide grief terrain (See AFSP for groups). It’s not about fixing the pain; it’s about giving it space to breathe. To those supporting us: just be there. You don’t need perfect words—sometimes a hug or a simple “I’m here” is enough. Don’t push us to rush through this. It’s a long haul, and we need room to carry it at our own pace.
This grief is raw, messy, and doesn’t fit in a box. But by sharing it, I hope we can make it a little less lonely. If you’re grieving a child this way, what’s helped you keep going? Maybe you need someone who understands. Drop a comment—I’d love to hear.
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