AFSP Long Term Survivor Summer Recap

The past few months I’ve been reflecting on the unwanted path I found myself on all those years ago. I recently attended the AFSP Long Term Survivor Summit as both a presenter and attendee. I was tasked with presenting a workshop on how I navigate the road as survivor to suicide loss and how I was able to start the Brian Dagle Foundation. 

There are so many take-aways from my time there I’d like to share a few highlights. 

First, it was affirming to be reminded that time does not heal all wounds. Six, sixteen, or sixty years, the grief is still there. For some, we hope the grief becomes a little softer, a little gentler to the heart. Yet for others, it’s not until many years after the loss that the grief can be discovered, uncovered, and processed. We can still cry years later and know that it’s really okay to let the tears fall. It’s simply our love with no place to go. I also learned that all these years later, I need to still take moments to grieve, and to remember that surviving the traumatic loss of a child to suicide, even years later requires constant attention.

Yes, on the outside, it appears as if I am doing good, maybe even great. It is true: most of the time I am. Despite the unimaginable loss of my son, I have found gifts of meaning and purpose. My life is rich, full of meaning and blessed with an understanding family. Yet, behind all that, the reason for my life that is full of meaning and purpose is because my son died.

That is something I can never forget. I have learned to accept the unacceptable. 

Yes, sometimes my heart is heavy. Yes, there are times I need to advocate for what is best for me. And sometimes saying no is what is best. 

As part of the closing session of the Survivor’s Summit, there was a drum circle where everyone in the room (there were close to 200 of us) had an instrument to bang or hit. We were ready. With the guidance of the circle’s leaders, we made incredible music – some even danced. As I scanned the room, people were smiling, laughing, and letting go of the heaviness of the weekend. Tears started to come. I realized that they were tears of happiness, joy, and incredible gratitude for so many reasons. Reasons like giving myself permission to honor my grief and the reassurance that time does not heal every part of my grief. I’m grateful for the collective courage and vulnerability from everyone who attended to share and to openly express grief, to admit that there are days when it’s ok not to be ok. 

To look around that room and witness pure joy was inspiring to say the least. I thought, “Wow, look at us.” It is not despite our loss but because of our loss that we are who we are: beautiful humans whose love knows no boundaries, who deserve to live their best lives.

I share this for you. For your grief. That you too can find pure joy, that you deserve to live your best life – live for you, for them, and for all of us.

With Hope and Healing,
Ann