Parenting Through Grief: What I Told My Son After His Dad Died by Suicide

When my son’s dad died by suicide, everything changed.
Not in a dramatic, movie-scene kind of way — just in a quiet, we’re in the-upside-down kind of way. A moment that split our lives into before and after.

He was six.
I was just trying to keep us breathing.

There was no manual for grief. No playbook for explaining suicide to a child. Well, that isn’t true. There are a lot of those. But, you find yourself desperately in need of one when life happens to you. It is hard to find the perfect words that could undo the ache or answer the impossible questions:

• Why did my dad have to die?

• Why didn’t someone help him?

• If he loved me, why did he choose to leave?

I didn’t always have answers.
But I had presence.
I had love.
And I had him—curled beside me, carrying a grief bigger than he was.

Grief and Parenting: What It Really Feels Like

Parenting through grief isn’t about being the strongest. It’s not about getting it right or always knowing what to say. It’s about showing up.

Again and again.
Sometimes with words. Sometimes with silence.
Always with love.

We started to find a rhythm.
Not a perfect one—but one that allowed us to feel, to cry, to remember, and to keep going.

I didn’t set out to write a children’s book. I just wanted something we could hold in our hands. Something gentle but true. That’s how I’m Small, but I Lost Someone Big was born—from our living room, our conversations, from our grief.

Grief Lessons from a Mom and a Child

We didn’t write the book to be brave.
We wrote it because we didn’t know what else to do.

If you’re in the middle of loss—if you’re grieving, or your child is—here are some things I’ve learned, and what I still remind myself often:

• You don’t have to explain everything. Just listen.

• Kids notice everything. Even what they don’t say out loud.

• Grief is weird. Some days are heavy. Others are just…quiet.

• You’re allowed to laugh. Grief and joy can live side by side.

• Being honest is more comforting than being perfect.

• You’re not alone. Even when it feels like you are.

We’re still figuring it out.
But we’re doing it together.