Three years since Nick’s suicide

by Sandy LaSalle

Three years ago, my world stopped when I learned my son, Nick, who so proudly graduated with a BS in Physics from VA Tech, was never coming home. How I miss him! I recall first hearing,
“Nick is deceased,” from my ex.

How do you go on? Thankfully I did not have to consciously make my heart beat, lungs breathe, else I would have forgotten. This year is the hardest. The numbness is gone. Full unadulterated pain takes its place.

I could not even find the energy to putting out Christmas decor. I am a Christian, have a great hope to see my son again, yet I can barely get by. Many times this past few months I thought,”Oh, how I want to join him. This life, trying to fit in with a broken heart is too painful.” Then I think of my husband of four years, my other son, a few close friends and remember, I cannot do this to them. At least not today.

Memories flood. As my husband and I took a week away, our first in four years, people ask ,”I thought finances are very tight? How can you do this?” I do not even bother to reply. This time away to sleep, rest, relax, enjoy a little was essential.

Those who have not walked this path did not understand. They mean well though.

At the diner this past Saturday, I pondered as I watched a young girl with her family. She was all of four years old, maybe three, blonde hair wearing a pink fluffy sweater with a sparkly unicorn on front. The matching sparkly iridescent leggings could barely contain her twirling feet. Would she one day be so depressed to take her life? I hope not.

Yet our angels too were carefree, enjoying life until the dark cloud of depression, anxiety, or addiction sank its teeth into our beloved. Enjoy your life, little one. Dance with all your sparkle. Yes, unicorns live and so must you.

I envision my son giving names to new stars, new galaxies, new planets and devoted to documenting each in a journal–a fitting assignment to keep him happily occupied for millennia.

I have a journal with a cover saying, ” When it rains, look for rainbows. When it is dark, look for stars.” That speaks of my Nick.

Nick, I miss you. I love you. Say a prayer for me as I seek to live here apart from you. No, I don’t want you back to have to endure your deep pain, yet the separation, the sting of death is deep. It sucks!

To my fellow travelers, I understand. I get it. Only those on this path truly can understand. Please, be kind to yourself. Seek joy in simple things. Pray, meditate, journal. Take comfort in the wonderful times with your beloved ones.

We hurt so badly because we love so deeply.

Hugs and comfort to each one as we keep vigil together. God, too, knew what it was to lose a child. Even though it seemed Nick was alone his last few minutes on planet earth, he really was not. God, His Father, was there. He cried, too, then said, “welcome home!”


2 thoughts on “Three years since Nick’s suicide”

  1. Sandy I am thinking of you. I totally understand your pain and how you feel. My 25 year old son took his life on Dec. 20, 6 years ago. I have no other children. I felt obligated to live, for others. And sometimes, like this week, I still do.
    I have had the flu since Sunday, and missed, whatever there is left for me of, Christmas. I am trying to concentrate on minutiae, so as not to think about all the wonderful memories my friends are making with their families. Trying not to go down the rabbit hole.
    Thinking of you in your battle. You are not alone. #tribeofafter

  2. Thank you for sharing from your hurting heart, Sandy. There is absolutely nothing easy about this journey we find ourselves on. Sending thoughts of comfort tonight.

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