Human/Parents Interview: kd and Suicide Grief

Human/Mother welcomes Substack author of Shutter Release!

Human/Parents is an interview series that explores and illuminates various mental health topics that some parents face while simultaneously performing the most important job on the planet: raising the next generation. Guests are Substack creatives who are also parents dealing with one or more of Human/Mother’s rotating monthly mental health topics.

This month’s topic is suicide grief.

So, pour yourself that third cup of coffee, snuggle in, get cozy, and get ready to meet our next guest: kd from Shutter Release!

kd from Shutter Release!

---

Hi, kd! Thank you so much for being here. I know that this conversation won’t be easy for either of us, but I feel that it is important to have these conversations and publish them because there are humans out there—like us—dealing with the same kind of grief, and it is a lonely, lonely grief. My hope is that through this exchange of words, we can help others feel seen, supported, and loved.

Let’s get into it!

I discovered your Substack through this Note, which led me to your post titled “If you REALLY want to go VIRAL, mention suicide,” and I’m curious to learn more about what led you to begin posting about your suicide loss experience on social media initially, but, first, tell us a little about yourself.

I was born in New Orleans, raised in a small college town on the bayou just southwest of New Orleans. I was a concert pianist for decades. That’s what most people pre-2008 knew me as. But after two carpal tunnel surgeries, I was forced to find another creative outlet. I bought a professional camera and never looked back. I loved it. But after my son died in that small town, I lost my business because people were just too uncomfortable to reach out and didn’t know how to act.

My son died in 2011 at the age of 18. He has an older sibling, who was 21 at the time, and a younger sibling, who was 11 at the time. I’d been re-married for five months, and my new husband couldn’t deal with my grief. He left me after a few weeks into my grief journey. My kids and I ended up moving back to New Orleans to start over/escape/etc. My kids are now 35 and 25.

Once in New Orleans, I suffered from “grief brain” and simply wanted to make money as a worker bee—someone telling me what to do and I simply just do it. No creative thinking necessary. That led me to discover my love of branding, copywriting, marketing, content creating, creative direction, storytelling, etc., which I now do full-time for clients.

How did you find writing, or, maybe, rather, how did writing find you? What led you to start Shutter Release, and what is the goal of your newsletter?

I’ve always loved writing. I was an honors English student throughout high school and college. When my son died, I found myself writing about my grief journey on social media. I stopped in 2016 because I felt that continuing to focus on my grief was keeping me “stuck” and not really growing (more about this later).

Ninety days before Garrett died, I had done a concept shoot. Images from that shoot became a book about a grieving mother, written by poet Chantel Carlson. That project happened because the poet came across one of the images from that shoot that I’d posted on social media.

Back to that concept shoot: I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time. I was just following a feeling. Making something moody after being inspired by an 1800s mourning dress. I thought I was playing with symbolism. Turns out, I was staging the prologue to my own grief. The book is called Oak Cradle.

I needed to spread the word about my book Oak Cradle, so I started a Substack. As I was laying the groundwork and establishing myself on this platform before marketing my book, the words just started flowing and couldn’t stop writing. I’d totally forgotten about the book I was here to promote, and am still to this day just writing about my experience and observations about grief and my life “after.”

As my voice developed, I noticed I was writing about two different things on my Substack: my grief and my photography. About three months in, it hit me: I wanted to show others how to use their craft/creativity to process their grief, document it, and communicate it. That craft doesn’t have to be photography. It can be anything you want it to be.

For instance, when I moved to New Orleans, I found myself photographing old houses, imagining who lived there, who lived there before the current owners, what it was like in these places 100 years ago (or more). I’d notice how, despite all the storms and years, the house still stands, some reinventing themselves. And, they always told a story. One day, I realized it was similar to humans. If we make improvements over time (fresh paint, caulking to fix the cracks, adding on living space for growth, etc.), we’ll last and grow to be more beautiful than we used to be.

How long has it been since you lost your son?

13 years

How did you break the news to your youngest son?

He was with me when we saw it unfold on the internet. My son crashed his car into a tree a block from his girlfriend's house after dropping off a note for her to read. I’d been searching for him for the past four hours after spending the morning with him. When I couldn’t get in touch with him, I posted a “missing” graphic on Facebook and someone immediately sent me a link to a news story about a local crash, and the article photo was a photo of my son’s car. His shared location told me it was him. I called 911 and the police came over with his remaining things. So my youngest was there with me the entire time, although I don’t remember him being around. It’s still all a big blur. Sometimes I ask him where he sat for the funeral. I still can’t remember any of it.

What did sharing the news with his school look like?

Honestly, I don’t remember ever telling his school. I’m thinking his dad helped me with that. Again, all still a blur.

I assume that your son was out of school for some time after your son’s suicide. When did you/he decide that he was ready to go back?

He returned after two weeks. Due to the trauma, I wouldn’t let him return to school quickly.

Was his school helpful or unhelpful in his return? How so?

NO—not NO, but HELL NO! At the time, he was at a prestigious small public school in our neighborhood. People moved to our neighborhood just to have access to that school. When my son returned to school, they gave him detention because he was late with assignments. So we changed schools immediately, and I drove him to a private school twenty miles away. That lasted for three months, then we moved to New Orleans.

In New Orleans, we sent him to a very small private school: eight kids in each class. It was exactly what he needed. He was there for six months (and finished out the school year there.) He then said he was ready for a bigger school. He did well after that, but, of course, I always made sure the staff knew his situation. There were mental health resources everywhere we went, but—keep in mind—he attended private schools, which means that the public schools didn’t support his mental health.

What do you remember about that first year of grief, specifically in your mind, body, and soul? How did you survive it?

My essay “Ugg Boots in the Psych Ward” explains my first few months. Three months in, I swallowed 78 prescription pills. My 11 year old had forgotten his jacket at home and came home to get it and found me. Otherwise, I’d be dead.

The suicide attempt was due to the things that make suicide so hard: community gossip, blame, guilt, societal things about suicide. I controlled ZERO parts of my life. I simply reacted to what was going on around me. My husband had left, I moved cities, my kids moved schools, I changed jobs, and social media chatter added a layer to grief that was unbearable. My son was a teen and other teens who didn’t know us were questioning family dynamics, relationships, etc. To this day, I don’t use my real name because my trauma still wants to protect me from society who labeled my family and me.

What about now? How has your grief journey changed (if at all), and what have you learned about grief—about suicide loss?

My oldest child and I are estranged—we have been estranged off and on. He can’t deal with the loss of his brother and still hasn’t processed it, and he is still very angry. He’s turned to alcohol and has bounced around from city to city in search of peace. All I can do is be here each time he returns, and remind him that he is loved and worthy of all the good in life.

My youngest child uses the memory of his older brother to fuel his creativity. He just graduated from Columbia College Chicago and is a cinematographer. Throughout college, we’d spend almost every night on the phone. I’d coach him to keep going, acknowledging how tough change and growth are when you have a brother who lost all chances of the same. (Garrett was an up-and-coming graffiti artist, and his little brother, as he got older, grew to understand the mind of a creative person and how isolating it could be and how creatives are overthinkers.)

How do you balance tending to the grief of your surviving children and your own?

Since Day 1, I’ve told my kids that I don’t know what it’s like to lose a sibling. I’ve encouraged them to share their experience and that I’d be happy to just be there for them and listen. My oldest came and went, for the most part, and didn’t live with me. But my youngest and I were always close, and we got even closer. He’s an old soul and saw my grief and was my rock. But, at the same time, I was his. We understood each other and held space for each other. We still do.

What are some of the things that have been helpful both to your processing and your son’s?

Talking about it—even at inopportune times. We always said what we were feeling. It’s made all the difference.

What are some of the ways that you and your family honor your son’s life?

When we all lived in the same city, we’d spend the entire day together doing something “touristy” like a day in the French Quarter. I also usually write about my year’s worth of growth each year on the anniversary of his death, along with noteworthy mental health information, in an effort to show people that they are loved, and that when they’re gone, our lives are completely changed forever.

For a parent who is dealing with suicide loss, what would you say to them? What advice would you give them? What resources would you share with them?

What I wasn’t prepared for was the PTSD and complicated grief. It consumed my life for about eight years. What I always tell people is that whatever they’re doing that starts with getting out of bed is progress. I think it’s a lack of guidance, education, and understanding that drives people to alcohol and substance abuse in an effort to numb.

Personally, I stopped all mood-enhancing drugs after one year because it numbed me, and I couldn’t focus on truly changing my way of thinking. I practiced mindfulness for the first few years, then I purchased a Kabbalah course online, which changed my way of viewing things. I literally retrained my brain to where I can only see the positive side of things, and not the negative, in situations. No matter how bad the situation is, there’s something positive that can come from it and can enhance your life, helping you survive and grow.

I also wasn’t prepared for what it does to the ego. It also told me that grief is often about control and realizing death is completely out of our control. We can’t go back and fix it. And, as a parent, that’s what nearly killed me. My inability to make this right.

Is there a question that you wish I would have asked you? What is it, and why?

The only thing I can think of is talking about the urge to be dead so that we can join our loved ones. I took part in some very risky behavior after my suicide attempt because I didn’t care if I lived or died. As I healed, I learned to appreciate life. I now tell myself, “a lifetime is a mere 100 years. What’s 100 years on this Earth in relation to eternity? Might as well give this a go!”

---

Wow. Thank you, kd, for sharing with us all that you have here. My heart hurts for you and your family because I know that hurt—though in a different way. In my story, I lost a sibling, just like your sons lost theirs. I wasn’t a mother at the time of my brother’s death, but I am now, and, let me tell you, I hold so much more space and grace for my mother and her grief. Your interview has provided even more framing and perspective for me (and I’m sure many others), so thank you for that. I wish you continued healing and peace!

If you (or someone you know) is dealing with suicide grief, please consider sharing this post, commenting, or tapping that heart below. Tell us your story, offer any advice or wisdom gained through your own personal experience, and/or let us know which details of kd’s story you found relatable, helpful, or hopeful.

Wherever you are in your journey, know that you deserve peace, hope, and love.

---