A Society of Secrecy: Navigating Grief After My Daughter’s Suicide

By Dehyana

The Initial Shockwave: When Words Fail

It feels like I’ve been initiated into a society of secrecy, one that only those who have lost someone to suicide can truly understand. When I learned that my daughter, Jordy, had taken her life, I was thrown into an abyss of grief so profound it felt like a shockwave tearing through my body, mind, and soul. I was speechless, too numb to think, and too hurt to speak. All I want is solitude, to be alone with memories of her life flashing through my mind like a film from the day she was born to the moment she left this world. As a mother, I feel shattered, wishing over and over that it had been me instead.

“It feels like I’ve been initiated into a society of secrecy”

There’s no “fixing” this grief. Nothing will make it better, and no solution exists to ease the pain. This grief is a part of me, consuming and ever-present, and I have no choice but to live through it. I am here, witnessing it, my heart broken and my mind drifting in silence.

Beyond Well-Meaning Platitudes

After Jordy’s passing, well-meaning people often tried to comfort me with phrases like “she’s in a better place” or “she’s at peace now.” Instead of comfort, these words left me feeling frustrated and even angry. These statements, though meant to help, felt empty, and sometimes even dismissive. And then there were the insensitive questions—”Was she a little off?”—that tore me apart. How could anyone reduce her struggle to such a simple, offhanded remark?

“How could anyone reduce her struggle to such a simple, offhanded remark?”

Standing Still in a Moving World

It seems society has lost touch with what it means to allow grief to run its course. We are surrounded by unspoken messages telling us to “move on,” “get better,” or “keep busy.” People suggest activities or distractions, as if grief could be escaped through a dance class or an art project. But grief has a life of its own. It can’t be fixed, scheduled, or healed through mere distractions.

“I feel like I’m standing behind a glass wall, looking out at a world that continues to turn while my own world has stopped.”

I feel like I’m standing behind a glass wall, looking out at a world that continues to turn while my own world has stopped. This is my reality right now: I am still, allowing myself to feel the weight of what is.

Finding Compassion in Brokenness

Suicide has changed me in ways I couldn’t have foreseen. It has deepened my compassion for others who are mourning this unique loss, those who are coping with addiction, mental illness, or the complicated sorrow of grieving someone who felt alone in their struggle. It reminds me daily that we can never fully know the depths of another’s mind or pain.

Jordy’s death shattered my heart into a million pieces of love and compassion for others living through similar grief. I know deep in my soul that she is safe now, yet the pain of her absence remains raw. This grief, this journey, is one I must endure, with Jordy’s memory close to my heart. My body reminds me of this with that deep, gutted ache in my solar plexus, a visceral marker of loss that words could never adequately express.

The Pietà: A Mother’s Sacred Grief

When I think of this sorrow, an image comes to mind: Mother Mary, in the Pietà, cradling her son, Jesus. I envision her surrounded by a legion of grieving mothers, those who have lived this loss, both seen and unseen. I am now among them, united in a sacred bond of shared understanding. Mary doesn’t offer solutions; she simply allows herself to feel the full scope of her grief, her love, and her pain.

She teaches me, too, to feel without running, hiding, or numbing the sorrow. She reminds me that true healing lies in experiencing, not escaping, this grief. Society may urge me to fix or hurry through the pain, but the Mother understands that healing is found in surrendering to the depths of the experience. This is where I am now: feeling it all, honoring Jordy’s memory, and learning to live with grief as part of my life’s new reality.

“How Are You?” Navigating the Unanswerable Question After Loss

When you ask me, “How are you?” I find myself at a loss for words. How do you expect me to answer that? My daughter is gone. Her absence permeates every part of my life, every thought, and every breath. I know you mean well, that you’re trying to connect, but honestly? I don’t have an answer.

“How are you?” feels like an impossible question when my heart is broken in ways I can barely describe. Grief doesn’t fit into simple phrases like “I’m fine” or “I’m okay.” Some days, I feel numb, and other days, I’m overwhelmed with pain. I might go through a thousand emotions in an hour, none of which I can distill into a single response. How can I? My entire world has been turned inside out.

Living Alongside Grief: A New Reality

This question often catches me off guard, reminding me of how society expects grief to be packaged up and put away, like a burden to be managed privately or resolved quickly. But grief isn’t something I can summarize or get past in a predictable way. It’s a constant presence, one that changes moment by moment, but never fully goes away.

“This grief has no words, only experiences, memories, and emotions I’m learning to live alongside”

So, please know that when I hesitate or say, “I don’t know,” it’s not because I don’t want to connect or talk. It’s simply because my reality right now doesn’t fit into neat answers or simple responses. This grief has no words, only experiences, memories, and emotions I’m learning to live alongside.

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