Dana Eskes

Loss of son, Julian, by suicide

Hi Dana! Tell us, what’s your story?

My name is Dana. I was born, raised and still reside in West Michigan with my partner of 31 years, our youngest daughter who will be 17 at the end of April and our little doggy named Luna. I am a mother to 7 children by birth and adoption out of foster care. I was a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom for many years before I returned to work full-time in 2015. I recently left my 6-year career in the mortgage industry to focus on personal healing, spiritual growth and soul purpose. I work part-time at a local greenhouse now. In my personal time, I love to write, read, and spend time outside in nature. I identify as a Highly Sensitive Person and introvert. I also really enjoy deep, meaningful relationships with people.

What was life like before the loss of your son?

Life was pretty carefree prior to losing our son. My husband and I had four teens living at home; the eldest three of our tribe were living together in a house that our oldest son owned just a couple miles away. The oldest child living at home participated in an online public school program each day, and our youngest three attended the local public school and Boys & Girls Club program. Our life was busy, full, and generally happy. We enjoyed spending time on our patio and in our backyard. We had weekly “garage nights” on Friday night, where there was an open invitation for any of our tribe who wanted to come hang after work. They would often bring friends or significant others along. We would listen to music, play games, have a few drinks and just have fun.

You share with me that your son, Julian, died by suicide. Can you share a little about that?

Our son’s suicide came out of left field and sent a shockwave through our family and community. Not one person who was close to him had any indication that this might be coming. Julian was close in age and development level to his two younger siblings (all three have some developmental delays and learning difficulties). The three of them were truly like the 3 Musketeers, and not even they had any idea that there may have been something that their brother was struggling with. He had a new peer group at school, and we did notice a few shifts in behavior, but honestly—this was not our first time raising a teenager and nothing seemed outside of what we would have considered normal for the challenges and changes that our teenagers face as they contemplate independence from their parents. There was a bit of angst and insecurity that was new, but this was not something we were alarmed over. We still are not sure if what happened was intentional or possibly accidental. Or if he maybe did not realize the finality of what he was choosing to escape a moment of intense personal pain. There was no note, no hidden journal, nothing to provide any clues. We will always be left with questions without answers, and that is sometimes the most difficult of all.

How did you cope in the immediate days and weeks after the death of Julian?

The first week after he died, our entire family gathered every day. The kids and their partners would all come and we would just be together. On the patio outside, or all piled into our tiny living room with pillows and blankets to watch films together. We listened to a lot of music. We cried together. We laughed. We looked through photographs and shared memories. We collectively prepared for the emotional toll that his very public memorial service would entail.

After those first few weeks, the number of people who regularly checked in on us started began to wane. This was both a welcome relief and terribly isolating. Once the initial distractions subsided and the shock wore off, the heavy grief really settled in. I remember sleeping a lot. Listening to music. Crying. Sitting in silence on our patio and being comforted by nature. While it is not healthy and I don’t promote it as a way to cope, both my husband and I also started drinking quite a bit.

What was a specific low point or struggle you experienced?

We lost our son on May 5, 2018, and that entire year seemed to bring wave after wave of trauma for our family. At the end of May, our first grandchild was born. It was so hard to be present and experience the miracle and joy of his birth (we really tried). At the beginning of June, one of our young adult daughters discovered that she was unexpectedly pregnant and homesick (she was living several states away with her fiancé). They had an unexpected and sudden move back to Michigan which my husband’s parents helped with—bless their hearts. We would have been so lost without them. Though this little one did not have an estimated due date until February of 2019, our daughter developed a severe, life-threatening condition called HELP Syndrome with pre-eclampsia and if they did not deliver the baby immediately, we risked losing both our daughter and our granddaughter. I remember feeling so much fear—and pleading with the Universe not to take them from us now. It was too soon and none of us could bear another traumatic loss so soon. Our granddaughter was delivered 15 weeks early by emergency caesarian on November 2. Our daughter recovered and was able to be released from the hospital about a week after the delivery. Our granddaughter remained in the NICU for 105 days. Supporting them through this time took every ounce of strength that we had left. I did not know how we were going to make it.

On top of that, every day I looked into the mirror and I did not recognize the person staring back at me. I felt like I was seeing the face of a complete stranger. I felt like I aged 10 years overnight and I was so lost.

By December, I was experiencing severe symptoms of PTSD (flashbacks, intrusive thoughts, night terrors, hypervigilance); I just did not know how to go on. I was lost to myself and it was a scary time in my life. I just could not seem to get my feet back underneath me. This was probably the lowest of lows in the months after Julian died. By the end of 2018, I decided to take an extended period off from work to focus on trauma-informed therapy for myself and for our two teenagers who still lived at home. Best decision I made. Would absolutely do it all over again.

How did you manage to find joy in those low moments?

In those early days, both my husband and I stayed fairly distracted with projects and working. It was our way of protecting our fragile hearts from being crushed by the weight of a grief so enormous that it could only be processed in bits, and over a long period of time.

Moments of joy were fleeting, like a hummingbird coming to visit. When they happened, they were magical and medicinal.

Nature was very peaceful and healing. Quiet moments with the sun on your face, being near water. Watching the flowers bloom, the birds nesting and caring for young. Squirrels frolicking in the trees overhead. Clouds floating by in an endless blue sky. The twilight song of insects and amphibians.

The humans who reached out to say, “I don’t know what to say. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m here.” Being able to cry without having to explain. The ones who met you with grace and compassion amidst the sorrow without pity and without needing to fix it—just help you carry it for a while.

Those are the moments of joy that I can recall. They were fleeting, but they were there.

How has your loss changed you?

I move slower and more intentionally through life. I feel like I am less resilient, or at least less willing to push hard for things that don’t align with my purpose. I seem to fatigue sooner, and so I honor that and rest more.

Learning to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and lovingly craft them into something new is teaching me about self-love in a way I have not know previously. After several years of using alcohol to cope, I am proud to say that have been alcohol-free since January 20, 2022. Without alcohol to numb my pain (and my capacity to experience joy fully), I have been experiencing a deeper connection to my intuition and a spiritual awakening. In many ways, the path to healing from the trauma of losing our son has led me to this place of peace and acceptance that I may not have known otherwise.

What do you want others to know about the loss of a child?

I read a passage in the memoir called ‘Between Two Kingdoms’ by Suleika Jaouad that talked about the fact that there is a word for someone who loses a spouse (widow) or a child who loses a parent (orphan), but that, “there is no word in the English language to describe a parent who loses a child. Your children are supposed to outlive you by many decades, and to confront the burden of mortality only by way of your dying. To witness your child’s death is a hell too heavy for the fabric of language. Words simply collapse.” p. 247

Prior to reading this, I personally did not have the language to express this sentiment and so I will just say that this is a painful truth. There isn’t much more that I feel I can add to that.

What do you want the world to know about your son?

Julian was so well-loved. He was a light in the life of so many; his siblings, his teachers and peers, ours. He had a wide contagious smile—similar to that of Wallace from Wallace and Grommit. He had a warm heart and a gentle nature. He loved to be silly and make people laugh. He was a good friend and a very talented artist. His creativity for his age was extraordinary; his middle school art teacher shared with us that he displayed exceptional raw talent and she was so excited to work with him in developing his gifts.

How can a person best be there to support someone struggling with grief and loss?

If you do not know what to say to someone who is struggling with grief and loss, that is okay. We usually don’t need your words. We need to feel seen, heard, and supported. You don’t need to say anything, just be near us. Or perhaps you might try to say something like, “I’m sorry. This is so hard. I don’t know what to say. Everything you are feeling makes sense and belongs here. I will sit here with you in the dark until the storm passes. The sun will shine again. You are not alone.

If you could offer a recently bereaved parent any advice, what would you tell them?

I wish that I could tell you that the pain gets better. It doesn’t. Unfortunately, time alone does not heal this wound. With support, you can learn healthy ways to cope with the pain so that it cripples you less. You develop stronger muscles through intentional activities that support your healing and help you learn to carry the extra weight of your grief and pain without crumbling—and this takes time. Be patient with your heart. The storm does eventually calm, and the waves of grief become less frequent and subside over a shorter period of time. I highly encourage anyone grieving the loss of a child to try to find a therapist or qualified coach to help you learn exercises to drop down out of your head and into your body to process your grief fully (somatically). Allow yourself the time and space necessary to feel your feelings in your body and not intellectualize them in your mind. Give yourself permission to stop, rest and cry as often as necessary. Crying is an emotional release and it is so healing. Let the tears come as often as they need to and without apology. The happy memories will still sting with the pain of loss—this is the price when you have loved someone deeply. Joy and pain do not exist in a vacuum; they can be present simultaneously and still be beautiful in a way that you did not anticipate. You learn to smile and cry at the same time, and it becomes a sacred act of remembrance.

Any resources that were helpful for you that others might be able to utilize?

I highly recommend the book ‘Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted’ by Suleika Jaouad. Though her book is about her journey with a cancer diagnosis in her early 20’s, as a parent who lost a child, the parallels of my journey through the wilderness of grief to hers were profound and it was so deeply healing to see myself in her words.

What brings you joy now?

The simple things in life bring me joy now; slow quiet mornings with candles, music, coffee, and journaling. Spending time with my family when we can (COVID restrictions have made this really hard the last 2 years). Getting outside to enjoy nature; things like walking our dog, sitting on our patio or by the pool, star gazing, bird/squirrel watching, hiking. Reading a good book while wrapped in my favorite blanket like a burrito. Having a deep meaningful conversation with my husband. Writing to heal. Connecting with others on the journey to heal from grief and traumatic loss.

Anything else you’d like readers to know?

If you are reading this, chances are that you have lost a cherished person in your life, too. I am so sorry that this is a bond that we share, and I am glad that we are here together to learn from each other as we heal.

Some days I still buckle under the weight of grief and I don’t know if I will ever be fully healed (I don’t think that’s a thing). I used to really struggle with trying to find the old me back. The notion that healing would somehow return me to the person I was before was a false hope. Learning to embrace who I am becoming as I heal and grow has brought a profound sense of peace and meaning to my life. Surrendering to the notion that there would be no way to find my way back to who I was before was the biggest obstacle to really being able to carry on and move forward, as difficult as that was. I hope that you may also find peace in that for yourself someday.

Want to learn more about Dana and her story? Read more at medium.com/@danaeskes and check out her Instagram account, @danaeskes.