My Son Alex; Choosing to Live in the Sunshine of His Life, Not the Shadow of his Death

Down the Rabbit Hole: Remembering Alex
(Date Written: July 2021)

Five years.
It feels like both a lifetime and the blink of an eye.

Today on the podcast, I went "Down the Rabbit Hole" to talk about my amazing son, Alex. As we approach five long—and yet somehow also short—years without him, it feels like the perfect time to share more of the life we had with him while he was here.

In today’s episode, I share a little more of the story leading up to his death by suicide on August 7, 2016. But mostly, I talk about his life—the beautiful, messy, incredible life he lived for 21 years.

My life—my entire family's life—changed on a Sunday.
Saturday, everything was normal.
By Sunday, our normal was gone, shattered beyond recognition.

On Friday, July 29th, after over five weeks home from college, I helped Alex pack up his car to head back to school. It was just the two of us and his beloved "girl," Harper, his two-year-old Carolina Dog.

We laughed. We joked. He gave me one of his big, warm hugs, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Don’t cry, Mom. I’ll be home in two weeks for Nic's birthday."

That would be the last time I heard his voice.
We exchanged a few more texts over the next few days... but eight days later, my youngest son Parker stood in front of me, struggling to get the words out:
"Alex is dead, Mom."

Those words will forever echo in a hollow place beyond my comprehension.
In that moment, life as we knew it ended.
My heart lay in shattered pieces all around me.

Somehow, we survived.
There were days I doubted it was possible, but here we are.

I've learned that traumatic loss changes you at the cellular level. It rewrites who you are deep inside.
I’ll share more about my survival—and my journey beyond survival—in future posts.

But today, I want to share about Alex in life.
Because he was so much more than the way he died.

Alex was funny, smart, and loyal—the best kind of friend and the kind of kid every mom hopes for. He was a varsity baseball player, a show choir singer, and an academic achiever with an advanced diploma. He could accomplish anything he set his mind to.

He didn’t love change (who does?), but he faced it bravely.
He was magnetic—people were simply drawn to him.

Alex had a goofy sense of humor and loved doing impersonations. His laugh was infectious. His hugs? They were legendary. When Alex hugged you, you felt it all the way to your toes.

He loved fiercely and felt deeply. His passions ran to his core, and yes, sometimes that intensity translated into a quick temper—but he always found his way back to center, back to reason.

He could be impulsive—a trait that may not have served him well in his final moments of overwhelm.
Still, his smile could light up a room, and his heart could light up your whole world.

He loved pizza, Vietnamese pho, and tacos—always tacos!

Living after Alex’s death has been the hardest thing I have ever done.
At first, it felt impossible.
But eventually, the fog began to lift.

Hope returned, little by little.
Healing found cracks to seep into.

No, I will never “get over” his death, and I will never “move on.”
But I have learned how to live alongside my grief.
It is work—but it is work that is worth it.

Today, my goal is to spend more time standing in the sunshine of Alex’s life, and less time lost in the shadow of his death.
Our lives are made up of so many more moments than just the one in which they ended.

My life is infinitely richer because Alex lived—and now, even in his death, I continue to discover the countless gifts he left behind.
I carry them with me, always.

Thank you for being here.
As with everything I share—whether through writing or on the podcast—I encourage you to take what serves you and leave the rest.

I am so sorry you need to be here... but I am so honored you are.
Talk soon.

(Click HERE to listen to Season 2, Episode 6.)