Holding Grief & Joy Together

In 2011, my life as a mom of three boys, with very different personalities and who were transitioning into young men, was far from perfect. But one thing was sure: they all knew how much they were loved by their parents, their large extended family, and so many friends.

I think this was especially true for Brian, the youngest of the three. His charismatic personality, sparkling blues eyes and sensitive soul melted many hearts.

Brian lost his life to suicide in November of his sophomore year at Castleton University in Vermont. I equate Brian’s death to a tsunami that hit my family, friends, and anyone who was blessed to have known him. Everyone questioned, “How could something like this happen to a family that seemed to be so loving and connected to community?”

In the weeks and months following Brian’s death, life was a blur. Grief was exhausting, isolating, physically and mentally painful. I struggled to find a reason to live but my focus turned to my surviving sons. I needed to always keep them close by and spoiled them with anything they needed.

I also became fixated on searching for other mothers like me. It felt like my grief left me alone on a deserted island. I needed to find other loss survivors. Sadly, I found them — moms who lost children to suicide and also to tragic accidents. They understood. We talked and we walked, we cried and shared about our kids without judgement, silly cliches, or advice we did not need. I also discovered the benefits of a grief support group for survivors of suicide loss. Twice a month on Friday nights, we shared our similar stories and found ourselves saying, “Me too, I feel the same way.”

For our family and Brian’s friends, the landscape of our lives was undeniably changed. My family of five suddenly became a family of four. Each person’s grief was uniquely their own – mother, father, brother, aunts, cousins, roommates, neighbors – their relationship with Brian was special based on every life he touched. Years later, I cherish the stories from people who I never knew but who were touched by Brian’s kindness.

The next few years, the roller coaster ride of emotions was overwhelming. The ups and downs of grief were relentless. The dance between two steps forward and twenty back left me feeling confused, lost, frightened and unsure of my place in the world. I wondered when I would ever find solid ground.

As I reflect on my journey, the year 2014 was a pivotal time in my healing. It was when I could finally fully embrace the long road ahead of engaging in the grief work that would be necessary to my healing. Until that point, I could only survive but I knew I needed and deserved more than that, to maybe even thrive.

Without a real plan, mission or any ideas on what we wanted this to look like, in 2014 my family and I opted to give purpose to the unimaginable pain we experienced and start the Brian Dagle Foundation.

Businesses, friends and people we didn’t know stepped forward to help us organize fundraisers. 2014 was the first year of the Niantic Jingle Bell 5K, our biggest fundraiser. It has grown to one of the top 5K’s in the state, with more than 1,500 registrants, raising more than $100,000. I learned to share my story, Brian’s story. I learned that his story did not end when his life did.

I educated myself by attending suicide prevention trainings. I received a certification in Grief and Death Studies to support anyone grieving the loss of someone and became a QPR (Question, Persuade, Refer) certified trainer (just like CPR, QPR is an emergency response to someone in crisis and can save lives) to teach others the signs I did not see. I’m sure I gained as much healing in helping others as they received from me. But it was so hard. It was hard to be so vulnerable about my story, about Brian, about the darkest times in my life, but it was my way to honor Brian, and still is today.

In 2018 one of our greatest accomplishments in this journey was opening Brian’s Healing Hearts Center for Hope and Healing. At the Center we offer HOPE to hundreds of adults grieving the loss of a loved one from any loss: spouses who’ve lost the loves of their lives to disease or an accident, bereaved parents who’ve lost a child tragically to accidents, illness, drug overdoses or suicide. It’s a safe place to feel connected and understood by others who are also on this journey.

Now, 13 years after Brian’s death, we’re celebrating ten years of incredible accomplishments at the Brian Dagle Foundation and Brian’s healing Hearts Center for Hope and Healing. I’ve learned to hold joy and sadness together: I hold the joy for my beautiful family and fulfilling life, and I hold the sadness for the cost it took to get here.

The tragic loss of Brian has led us to this work. He is my reason. Together we make a difference in the world one person at a time.