Losing My Only Child to Depression and Suicide: What Happened?

Dylan Andrew Brown, March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012
Forever 20 years young

My heart, My wings, My love

My Forever Son

I knew him from his first breath to his last.

He came a month early on cusp of spring, 

March awakening, still so much heavy winter, 

my little one in such a hurry to be born.

He left too soon, 
lifting life from June, 

casting torrents of rain, 
and in his absence, heaving beating of tears

breaking loose, all hell, earth's upturned rupture into death's shadow  

My Forever Son, Dylan Andrew Brown

Forever My Heart, My Wings, My Love

My heart, My wings, My love

My Forever Son

 And now just this, 

orange always his favorite color, 

his last Mother's Day card to me
so close, in May, 

to then June--his death.

"I'll love you forever mom"

Love, Dylan

Dylan and Me, Happy Birthday Little On

Giggles and squeals and all that blond hair.

Little white leather Stride Rite shoes, worn and scuffed because you wanted to see and do so much.

I have your first pair of shoes, little one,
--and I have your last pair of shoes.

Gray Nikes, size 11, puppy feet on a young man barely past his teenaged years.

And so in these shoes, on little baby feet, go I, measured steps--and shoes--counting, always, your number of days here.

Oh little one, where did time go?

How Long Has It Been?

When I started this blog, I was approaching Dylan's third year memorial date. (As I write now, it has been 6 and nearly 1/2 years since Dylan died.)

I am coming up on June 25th quickly. It will be my third year of grieving, healing, learning how to keep on keeping on, struggling to surface, learning how to live now, as is, as now, in the wake of having lost God's greatest and most precious and beloved gift to me. I am devastated, always, even when I seem "okay," even though I've learned to smile again, sometimes, even though I can now laugh and remember good memories, sometimes.

Losing a child to suicide is impossible. It is an impossible grief journey, and it takes an impossible manifestation of courage, strength, hope, and perseverance to keep on keeping on, and in truth, to even want to keep on keeping on.

It has taken me almost three years of intense, acute grieving to want to be here, but still, on most days, I have to practice awakening in gratitude and consciously seek healing strategies and ways to cope.

I've accumulated many resources, messages of hope, helpful resources, the list goes on and on, and it is my intent here to share healing and hope with anyone who has lost a chid, be it to suicide or any other cause, and to all who knew and loved Dylan.

There were nearly 200 people at Dylan's funeral on June 29th, 2012. He was much beloved, a close friend and brother to all the boys he grew up with, a gifted musician, an academic scholar, an incredibly kind and wonderful soul. He got sick with depression early on, when he was 5 years old, and in the end, just couldn't beat this formidable adversary.

Dylan was, and will always be, my heart's song and joy. I am forever bonded to my son, and he lives on, not just "in my heart," but in everything I do and am. I fully expect to be reunited with Dylan again--and this time for eternity--when God sees fit and it is time.

I miss and love and adore my son. All the time. And he is always my first and last thought each day. I have learned to be busy, distracted, during my days, but whenever my mind stills, Dylan is there.

Dylan is always there.

I am Beth, Dylan's Mom
March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012
Forever My Heart, My Wings, My Love
Till Soon, Little One, Til Soon




























Sometimes wonderful memories of Dylan seep in—but only just now, after 3 years of acute agony, pain, and the hell of grieving the loss of my only child to suicide. 

Beautiful, albeit bittersweet memories come sweeping in and across the landscape of my heart and soul and body, and for a precious moment in time, I am reminded of and surrounded by all the precious love bonds between Dylan and me.

Other times, I am caught off guard in deep, deep ache and heart-wrenching pain. Tears always come, not always publicly, as I am sometimes able to make it to my car, or leave wherever I am to go home; other times, I just let the tears fall. I still sob after three years, just not as long and usually on my own, although this is not always the case. 

My little white cat whom I adopted February 16th, comes to me when I cry. She circles my feet until I pick her up, then tucks into me. Perhaps Dylan is with me still. . .

Yesterday, I found a Mother’s Day card from 2012.  Dylan would be dead within a month a couple of weeks post Mother’s Day. It is bright orange, Dylan’s favorite color as a child, and it is beautiful. I wasn’t looking for the card, and it kind of just appeared. I saw it sticking out of a pile of other cards and things I’ve been intending to sort, organize, and put in a keepsake box. 

The card says “mom, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t need your love and support. . .and I can’t imagine a time when I won’t. Happy Mother’s Day With Love” and Dylan signed it “I’ll love you forever mom. Love Dylan.”

That did me in. It’s now on my desk beside me, propped open to the “I’ll love you forever mom, Love, Dylan”

He knew, he just couldn’t tell me. I love him so much still, always, forever. Love doesn’t die. It is only this interim between now and when I get to see him again that brings ache and sadness and a constant heavy heart.

Beth, Dylan’s Mom
March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012
Forever my heart, my wings, my love
My Forever Son