I was raised in the Unitarian Universalist Church which played a huge role in shaping me. In my formative years, I had the opportunity to explore many different religions and cultures and was encouraged to make my own decisions about my faith. I attribute my openness to and unconditional acceptance of a broad range of people and beliefs to the upbringing I received in this very inclusive church. I am grateful for the role the church played in who I am today.
My religious beliefs could be described as fluid over the years, but I hold fast to the idea of “God is love.” About 17 years ago, I had the Chinese symbol for “believe” tattooed on my left foot to remind me to believe in myself but also to believe in the role a higher power plays in my life. I have faith I am where I am supposed to be personally and professionally.
One of the disadvantages of the UUA church is while it allows an open forum for conversation and exploration, it offers few, if any, steadfast answers. And early in my loss, answers were what I was searching for. Why did this happen to Tom? Was it genetic? Environmental? Is there a higher purpose in his passing? Do I have a new purpose in life from this loss? If he had lived on, would things only have become worse for him, and therefore for us? Where is his soul now? Is he at peace? Does he know how much he is loved? Does he see the impact of our loss? A friend wrote me and asked, “What would Tom think of all of this pain?” I wish I could answer. And these questions lead me to my biggest struggle with my faith.
What comes after death? I know what many religions teach, having studied a variety in UUA Sunday School. And with the other losses I have experienced in life, there has been talk of heaven and some kind of reassurance I would see my grandparents, my stepmother, and even my pets again. But in all of those cases, it was easier to let go because I was distanced from them either physically, or I started the grieving process before their passing, knowing their earthly existence would soon end from their illnesses. There was a sense of release and closure in those deaths. And I guess I imagined I would see them again in some kind of afterlife. But I had not focused on that idea, nor had I committed fully to it.
But this loss is different. It was totally unexpected. We had no idea of Tom’s inner struggles 
because he did such a great job moving through his day like nothing was wrong. He was funny, caring, responsible and just great to be around. A few months after Tom died, my husband, L.J., said, “Tom brought so much life and joy into our home.” So, there was no preparing for the loss. It was like being hit by a truck at highway speed. It slammed into us, knocking us backwards through the air, landing us on our backs with an inability to breathe for weeks. There was no easing into this loss. It was swift and devastating. And there was no closure or chance to say goodbye. Tom left behind some writings which provide insight, but there is still so much we will never know.
We continue to find support and solace in the kindness and prayers of those around us. We had no idea so many care for us, and I continue to believe we are being held together by the loving arms of our local and extended communities. I have no doubt others’ prayers have bolstered us, and I am not sure how we would have kept going without them. But one question continues to nag at me.
Where is Tom? Logistically, and somewhat comically, half of Tom is at our house and half is at his dad’s. We decided it was easier to share custody of his ashes that way, rather than dropping him off at each other’s house on the days set forth in the parenting plan. (I know that sounds dark, but we have to find humor where we can.) I figure I have the half with the ears, so I talk to him sometimes, and even squeeze the box tightly hoping he feels my love for him somehow. But I know he is not in the box. I know his soul has moved on. But where?
I cannot believe in a god who would damn a life made in his own image, so I do not worry about Tom being in hell if there is one. But I also wonder if he is in heaven, because I am not sure I believe in it either. I want to believe he is there, released from his earthly pain and enjoying the freedom to explore heaven like a scene from Sword Art Online. But even though I have heard heaven discussed in the past, and even talked about it myself, its existence has never been quite so important to me. Because I want to see Tom again. I want to hold him and let him know how much I love him. And I cannot imagine that not happening. In all honesty, I am desperate for it to happen.
So, is now accepting there is a heaven, and that my son lives on elsewhere, such a bad thing? Is looking forward to being reunited with him a cop out? Is holding onto that hope hypocritical? Or would God celebrate I have finally found his home through this painful journey, discovering a pathway to peace about my son’s whereabouts? I have never not believed, but now I am desperate to believe.
(C) updated in 2019
If I did not believe in an another existence then I would not be able to continue on this earth. I was brought up Church of England as much like a Catholic religion where if you were good you went up and if you were bad you went down. 15 years of Sunday school and then I never kept it up.
After my son left by suicide, a friend suggested a Spiritualist Church so off I went to the service one Sunday not knowing if it was all a bunch of hocuspocus! I was surprised, we sang, prayed and it felt like a church. The second half of the service was a demonstration of mediumship given on the platform by the Revered and two church mediums. I was quite surprised at how comforting the messages were to the congregation, many of whom had lost children. I have now been a faithful member for the past 5 years and even though I am still a little bit skeptical I enjoy the idea of my son being in another place, a distant shore, another dimension. Just my thoughts for today but worth exploring.
Kimberly, I am so sorry for your loss. Your son Tom is beautiful and, ironically, looks very alive to life. We lost our 19 year-old son and I know how you feel. Regarding the afterlife, since no one can be certain it exists, I cling to the life we do have, and especially to love that I feel for and from others. You touched on this when you wrote “God is love.” I try hard to increase that love through my actions. I have close friends who believe strongly in the afterlife but I cannot go there. Thinking of you!
Thank you so much for writing about this. I have the very same thought processes since losing my sister to suicide 3 years ago.
I lost both my parents unexpectedly over a 3 year period prior to my sisters death. Their deaths devastated our family but I never questioned that God had a purpose for each of us and that there was a heaven and we’d be together again. My sister’s suicide shook my world in a every way imagineable and unimagineable. Initially, I clung to my faith in God because I could not survive this horror without God’s help. My sisters suicide has made me question everything I never questioned before. Is there really a heaven or am I clinging to the hope of heaven so I can survive the rest of my life without my family? When I get to this place in my thoughts I then travel the road back to believe and trust God. Surely, our lives together on earth have more purpose than to just end with death? God and heaven are woven into all the pieces of my sister’s suicide that I’m still trying to find answers to but mostly I want to believe in God and heaven. I need hope in my life or life feels shallow.
Thankyou for allowing me to read. If I now didn’t believe my daughter is a free spirit, I would be with her.
My lyla took her life 17th may 2019.
I’m a strong believer she is a spirit on earth n in heaven where she comes to love ones through signs. For my mama 84yrs old and never a believer now believes in after life as lyla visits her when her salt lamp flickers. A daughter with never believing after life is true as brought up as a Jehovah witness is a strong believer of after life as her sister presented her self many times through signs of lights flickering,a candle delighting and a dream so strong she felt her sister n heard her sister say I forgive you.( they had a high fight two day’s before her death) she felt her sister hug her.
As for me my daught comes mainly as a Sea gull
On the day she died, on her 40th birthday, at a family gatheti g, when I was at te site and only last Sunday at a park. The symbol of Sea gull is a care free of life behaviour independent spirited person who is of unique character . My lyla also comes to me while I’m sleeping and wakes me up as I feel her sitting n aging het hand on me or holding my hand.
Because of this I. Able to survive another day of not having her physically with me.
I do believe when the time is right for her she will enter into a mother to be of her choice n be born all again where she will have a similar life but she has learnt het lesson n overcome her mistakes n not suicide again.