Hoping to share the love, joy, and grace I have received in my own life.

It’s Not a Stage

on January 6, 2016

The Miriam Webster Dictionary defines stage as “a period or step in a process, activity, or a development step in a process or development.”  Some of the synonyms listed for stage are “juncture, step, moment, level.”  I’ve read a lot about the “stages of grief.”  Although I did not study for years to be educationally qualified to dispute some of the thoughts on the subject, I was thrust into the grieving world and am still finding my own way in this land I never wanted to be in. Of everything I have learned about life in the past four years, 99% of that learning has been a result of the grief I carry. 

In my case, there are not stages of grief that happen in a certain pattern or timing. In my case, the emotions that are so often associated with grief can happen in any order, at any time. I haven’t passed through the “guilt stage” and left it behind to head to the next juncture. I still feel guilt, nearly every day, from Trevor’s death. I still am angry. I often feel as if it simply cannot be true that he is gone. It isn’t stages for me. I don’t just glide from one stage to the next with anticipation of when this heartache will all be over.

That being said, I have tried to analyze so much of my healing and my hurting. I always question how I got through a certain low point or what makes me feel the real joy that I have begun to feel again. This morning, though…this morning I am confused. I have feelings that I haven’t recognized and I am unsure if I should even express them or how to express them. After a prayer for the right words to come, this is what I feel needs to be said today…

Trevor died. We will never understand what happened that day. We will never know his thoughts. Trevor’s story and all of my sharing with the world about his death was never…never intended to glorify him or the way his life on earth ended.  I have wanted to share our story for two reasons. The first reason is because I want people to understand that suicide is an epidemic that needs to be discussed. It can happen in any family with any religious, educational, or financial background. Trevor did not use drugs or alcohol. He was well loved, had many friends, and had a relationship with Christ. He was smart, funny, and kind.  The second reason I have been so open with our story is to let others know that where there is excruciating pain…God is there. There is hope. There is love. There is peace. There is joy. Let’s face it, if a normal, run of the mill, undeserving person like myself can bury a child and still have hope for the life ahead of me, there is hope for everyone in any situation.

Suicide is ugly. It is gruesome. It is something that I pray daily will not affect anyone else, but yet, I know it will.  The piece of my heart that my son took with him over four years ago will never be replaced. For Trevor, the pain is over, but for his momma, for his dad, for his sisters…for us, the wound remains.  The hurt, the sadness, and the heartache remain. The questions haunt me daily.

I write about my son because he is a part of my world, a love of my life, and I am blessed that he was with me for 15 years. I don’t have irrational thoughts that he was perfect or could do no wrong. I am well aware of how his life ended. I just hope that my open heart has been able to help someone, somewhere understand that the epidemic of suicide is real. It happens when you don’t expect it and once it happens, it is in the hearts and minds of the family left behind forever.  There is nothing good, nothing glamorous, nothing to be glorified about suicide.

I am thankful for my faith, for my family, and for my friends that have allowed me to keep working on me and on my life on this earth.  I miss Trevor every single day. I hurt every single day. I have feelings inside that no mother should ever have to feel, but I also see hope and love and that is what keeps me going.

I hope my intentions for sharing our story are understood in the manner in which I meant for them to be.  My love for my son will never ever change, but he has hurt me in a way that will never be erased on this earth. I am thankful for a God of grace who understands who I am. I will continue to document my story in the hope that someone may be helped by it.

There is hope in this life. I am living proof.


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