All I Wanted Was to Say Goodbye: A Mother’s Story of Loss, Signs, and Healing

This personal story shares a mother’s experience of losing her son to suicide and the unexpected signs she believes she received from him afterward. Through grief, memories, and moments that defy explanation, it explores love, loss, and the ongoing connection many feel with those they have lost.

“All I wanted was to say goodbye.” This message came to me as I was driving home after having coffee with a friend. Seconds earlier, I had been thinking about my oldest son’s wife, which was unusual because we have not got a current relationship. Immediately following that, I was recalling a picture of Nick preparing for rock climbing. I almost pulled my car over to the side of the road, but then everything faded away. I continued driving. Five minutes later, I was pulling into my driveway, and minutes after that, I was sitting at my computer writing about this experience.

All this activity happening at once – Nick’s message, the memory of the picture, and the recollection of a conversation I had with my daughter-in-law years ago. It felt like a strong message and prompted me to write this story.

As time since Nick’s death passes, it seems fewer messages and signs come my way, so when I do get a sign, it gets my attention. My birthday is in March when Spring begins. Nick died by suicide in May when the best of Spring shows pretty colors. Let me just say Spring used to be my favorite time of year. Now it’s just another season. Nick and I were very close, almost telepathic. To help me through the Spring season, this is the time of year he would send me a sign or message to remind me that he is still by my side.

Spirits often communicate through electronic means. Yes, I believe in the spirit world. This month, Nick has been very active and not only with me. Close friends of mine who either knew Nick or now feel they know him through me and my book are being affected this year. He makes us all laugh, which would be his goal. This past week, I had phone conversations with three friends, and during our calls, each one of them had problems with their computer, their phone, or their TV. One of the incidents happened when I was driving. The phone number that showed up on the monitor in my car was my cell phone number, meaning a call was coming to me in the car from my phone, which was sitting in the cup holder next to me. That would be impossible. Was this another one of those scam calls? For kicks, I answered the phone to find that it was a friend of mine I talk to every day. She asked me if I had just called her. I told her no, that I was driving and was going to call her when I got home. “Well,” she said. “My phone is indicating that you just called me.” I started to laugh and explained what I had experienced on my end. It was something about being in the car, and then I recalled that Nick, as a little boy, loved to go for rides with me. It was just one of our favorite things to do together.

Just like the message about just wanting to say goodbye, I got a message years ago encouraging me to visit my daughter-in-law. It was a weekday. I told my husband where I was going. The expression on his face was asking, “Why would you want to do that?” I did not have the best relationship with my son’s wife, but I felt a sense of responsibility. I pulled into her driveway and parked in a place that would be out of the way for my son if he came home. As I climbed the back porch stairs, she opened the door and looked at me as if to say, “What are you doing here?” I’m sure that was just me. I never felt comfortable visiting their house.

I was not expecting her to start a conversation, so I took the first step. I was feeling brave that day. First, I asked her, “Where’s Nick?” She knew exactly what I was talking about. I had given her husband, my son, a portrait of Nick that an artist painted from a picture of Nick wearing his old, beat-up Charlotte baseball cap. I found out later that my son could not even look at the painting. It was such an incredible likeness of Nick, apparently too much of a likeness. It was too disturbing for him. He has not talked to me about his brother in 14 years. The picture was never hung on their wall, so when I asked where Nick was, she knew what I meant and said, “he’s still in the box.” I asked her where the box was. She told me that it was in the eaves of the garage. After a pause in the conversation, I explained that storing it in the garage would probably destroy it. I then asked if she would make sure it was brought into the house. She assured me that she would. It was interesting how confident and strong I was in my tone and demeanor, not at all what she was used to.  

She then opened up and shared with me. She said she could not imagine losing a child. After a short discussion, she mentioned that Nick had called her a few weeks before he died and asked her to go rock climbing with him. I was not aware of this and asked, “Did you go?” No, she said. She thought it was very strange that her husband’s brother was asking her to go rock climbing, that it was inappropriate. It was an indoor facility, so it would have been safe, but I learned later from a family member that Nick did not appreciate his sister-in-law. His values differed so much from her and his brother’s. He found them to believe that money and appearances were most important. Nick was more interested in happiness for himself and his friends than being well off.  From the time Nick was a boy up to his adult years, I always considered Nick to be a good judge of character, so when I heard why he did not enjoy his sister-in-law’s or his brother’s company, it made sense.

I then said that my interpretation of his invitation to rock climbing was simply to spend some time with her – that it was going to be his way of saying goodbye. He would have wanted to leave on the best terms he could. When I told her this, tears came to her eyes.

Nick was busy the summer before he died. His exact plans are a mystery, but as I heard stories from his friends, I put two and two together. He had reached out to people to say goodbye without saying the words. One of Nick’s characteristics I learned about after he died was that he was an empath, which explained so much.

One of the people he spent time with was his cousin, a female. Nick’s girlfriend was not happy with him. Turns out she was the jealous type. From the stories I heard, Nick and his cousin had a great time for two weeks, rock climbing and going out to eat. The two of them were so close as babies and never lost that connection. When I learned about his time with our cousin, it occurred to me that Nick had taken the summer off. He never took time off from work or school.

It was this same summer that my husband asked Nick to help him at work. My husband had hurt his lower back, and his work was labor-intensive. Nick was happy to help. They had a great time together. I heard lots of funny stories over the next couple of weeks. What is really funny is that the work they were doing was septic pumping. We owned a septic pumping company. Nick was a funeral director/embalmer at the time, so he wasn’t affected by the smells at all. He was used to strong, not-so-pleasant odors.

Then there were stories that Nick’s friends had written. The first story I read was written by a server at a restaurant he frequented after work. She had asked him for a ride home one night. On the passenger side seat was an Acela train schedule. This was about nine months before he died. She asked him if he was going somewhere, and with his famous little giggle, he answered, “someday.” When this same woman heard on the local news station nine months later that a man had been struck and killed by a train in Foxboro, she called her boyfriend and, in a panic, told him it was Nick. She felt it in her heart; her feelings became fact.

One of the saddest stories for me was one I came across a few weeks later. Nick had sent a quick text to his best friend from the submarine they had both served on. It was Mother’s Day, the day before he died. It read: “text me your number so I can call you.” Nick had once again lost his temper and smashed his phone, so he had lost all his contacts. Later in the week, his friend messaged him back on Facebook: “Goodbye Nick. I never responded to your text on Sunday. I was hoping I’d have another chance. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Via con Dios buddy.”

As the years have passed, I’ve continued talking to people who knew Nick. It has become clear that Nick had planned his suicide. He had a nine-month plan. Each of us possessed fragments of information. If we had combined all these fragments, like assembling a puzzle, Nick's intentions would have become obvious.

A few months after the funeral, I had lunch with a cousin of mine – the same woman Nick spent time rock climbing with the previous summer. She was so angry that she had learned about Nick’s death on Facebook. Why didn’t I call her to let her know what happened? She was the first and last, thankfully, who challenged me on this. I stood my ground: “I had no control over what people posted on Facebook.” Once she was calmer, I told her that I thought she was blessed that Nick wanted to spend time with her. She was one of the very few people that I was aware of – people he trusted and thought highly of. More tears.

When I think back to those days, I was truthfully grateful that the news had spread in that fashion. I did not have the wits about me to think of who to call. Having the news spread like wildfire over Facebook was a blessing. Nobody else seemed upset about finding out over social media. I truthfully only had the wherewithal to call one person, and that was one of Nick’s employers with whom he and I had become close. I do not think I even called Nick’s best friend to let him know, and I feel bad about that. Thankfully, he somehow found out quickly and did not hold it against me. The whole experience was a disaster.

I want to end this story with a couple of practical suggestions.

1.     Create a list of people you would like someone to notify if something happened to you! Then make sure a family member or your personal representative in your will knows where the list is, so they can make calls.

2.     Keep all your valuable information together in one place and make sure someone else knows where it is stored. Several systems exist for capturing this information. I found a binder-type book titled “I’m Dead. Now What?” at a local bookstore. It has tabbed sections for information about your belongings, business affairs, and wishes. I loved the title of the book, so I bought it, and I have since shared it with many of my friends.

One more thing! Below is a link to my book titled “Hey, It’s Me.” I was encouraged to write a book that would help others. During the writing process, I realized that I intended to carry on Nick’s legacy. I hoped to change at least one person’s life. I have accomplished both. Everyone who reads the book says that they feel like they know Nick now. I am also happy to report that I have helped change at least one person’s life. A gentleman approached me at a local networking meeting where I announced my book. He told me that he lost a brother to suicide ten years prior. He thanked me for publishing the book and felt that it would help a lot of people. A couple of weeks later, we met for coffee. At coffee, he told me that he attended a siblings’ luncheon where he talked to another attendee about his brother for the first time. He thanked me again for encouraging him to talk about his loss rather than continually stuffing his emotions away. This made me so happy. I have also received messages from many readers who are telling me how they were affected by the book – all good news. CLICK HERE for the link.