My Son, My Grief, My God

Suicide changes everyone it touches. Family members, friends, coworkers, classmates, first responders—every person carries a different kind of wound after a suicide loss.

Today, though, I want to share the journey through the eyes of a mother.

I lost my oldest son, Coty, to suicide in 2014. Even after all these years, I remember that day with perfect clarity. In fact, I remember the day and a half leading up to it just as vividly.

I remember our last conversation. My mom and I were driving home from the Mayo Clinic when I saw a post Coty had shared on Facebook. It was a picture of a man on his knees asking forgiveness from everyone he had hurt. His girlfriend and he had recently broken up, and his dad had helped him move back to Ottumwa. Something about that post unsettled me, so I called him.

He answered while he was working for his dad. He snapped at me when I called, but only for a moment. A few minutes later, he called back to apologize. He told me he was in an attic and it was incredibly hot. Looking back now, I know that wasn't why he snapped. He snapped because he was hurting. His heart was hurting.

The next morning, his dad called and asked if I had heard from him because he hadn't shown up for work and wasn't answering his phone. That wasn't like Coty. We all started calling him over and over, hoping someone would hear his voice on the other end.

Finally, I reached out to his ex-girlfriend. She sent me a text message he had sent her late that night. It was a goodbye message, telling her he would watch over her and the girls from heaven. I remember being completely baffled that she hadn't told anyone, but later learned he had made similar threats before. None of us knew.

We searched tirelessly for him until the next day, when we found him.

There are moments in life that become permanently etched into your soul, and that was one of them.

Our family gathered where he was. He looked like he was sleeping. I remember asking him to wake up, but he didn't. One of the hardest sounds I have ever heard was his brother's scream as he fell to his knees. Even now, I can still hear it.

Everything after that became a blur. Shock has a way of protecting you. Your mind refuses to believe what your eyes have seen. It tells you this can't possibly be real. It couldn't have happened.

Then the questions begin.

What did I miss? How did I not see? I'm his mother. How did I not know how deeply he was hurting?

Those questions don't simply disappear. Every parent who has lost a child asks them in one form or another. Whether they're fair questions or not doesn't matter. They become part of the grief we carry.

For the first couple of weeks, people surrounded us with love. They brought food, prayed with us, cried with us, and did everything they knew to do. I was grateful for every one of them.

Then life slowly started moving again.

People went back to work. Children went back to school. Stores opened. The world kept turning.

I couldn't understand how that was possible because my world had completely stopped.

Those first few years were some of the darkest of my life. I made decisions I wasn't proud of because I wanted to numb the pain. I wanted the grief to disappear. I wanted one moment where my heart didn't ache.

But grief doesn't work that way.

You can't outrun it, bury it, or numb it forever. Eventually, it catches up with you.

For a long time, I was angry with God. I had questions I couldn't answer and pain I couldn't understand. I wondered why He hadn't stopped it. I wondered why my son had to hurt so deeply. I wondered why I had missed what he was carrying.

Yet even in my anger, God never walked away.

He listened to every question.

He stayed through every tear.

He never condemned me for my hurt.

Slowly, over time, I found my way back to Him. It wasn't a single moment; it was a journey. As I began reading His Word again, I discovered something I had overlooked in my pain. Scripture is full of people who asked hard questions, who grieved deeply, and who cried out to God. He wasn't asking me to hide my grief from Him. He was inviting me to bring it to Him.

Giving my life back to Christ didn't erase my grief. I still miss Coty every single day. I still cry. I still have moments when the loss feels fresh. The difference is that I no longer carry it by myself.

Now, when the weight becomes too heavy, I know where to take it.

Psalm 34:18 says, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

I have lived those words.

Even now, the enemy knows exactly where to attack me.

Just a few days ago, a painful image suddenly entered my mind—one I had never really allowed myself to imagine before. It was devastating, and I couldn't seem to escape it. I knew that image wasn't from God. It was another attempt by the enemy to pull me back into the despair that once consumed me.

But this time was different.

Instead of allowing that image to stay, God gently replaced it with memories of who Coty really was. I remembered his smile, the little smirk he always had when he was being ornery, how deeply he loved his family, how hard he tried, and how much love he carried in his heart. Those are the memories worth holding onto. Those are the memories that tell the story of my son.

This morning, I went to church, and during the service our church family gathered together and prayed over one another. We didn't know everyone's burdens, but God did. As we prayed, I could feel the heaviness in my chest beginning to lift.

The image that had haunted me for days no longer had power over me.

Instead, I found myself thinking about Coty laughing.

Smiling.

Finally at peace.

I truly believe that when Coty entered the presence of Jesus, every lie that had tormented his mind disappeared forever. Every fear, every burden, every voice telling him he wasn't enough was silenced. He is whole now. He is healed. He is experiencing a joy that none of us can fully imagine.

Satan thought he would create distance between God and me through my son's death.

Instead, God used my deepest pain to draw me closer to Him than I had ever been before.

Do I still miss my son?

With every part of my heart.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I could hug him one more time.

But because of Jesus Christ, I know this life is not the end of our story.

One day I will see my son again.

And when I do, we will never have to say goodbye again.

That is the hope I hold onto.

If you're reading this today and you're angry, questioning, grieving, or simply exhausted, I want you to know that God is not afraid of your pain. He is not offended by your questions, and He has not abandoned you in your suffering.

He is already there.

Jesus says in Revelation 3:20:

"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock."

He has never stopped knocking.

And if you feel forgotten, hear these words from the Lord Himself:

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."  ~Isaiah 49:16

The God who formed you has not forgotten you.

He never will.