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THAT SUICIDE LEAVES BEHIND
SECRETS
The First Minute
What are your childhood memories of Mother’s Day? Making cards and presents in art class? Going to Mother’s Day brunch with the family?
When I was an eleven year-old kid in East Tennessee, I excitedly brought my mom into the family room, decorated with pink and purple streamers, and surprised her with a rhododendron bush as an enduring symbol of my love.
A few hours later, I lifted the phone extension and listened in on a call between her and another woman who said she was pregnant with my father’s child. Before sending me off to a friend’s house, I can still picture Mom on the steps, telling me she loved me. That was the last time I saw her.
It was around four in the morning at my friend’s house when the cars began pulling up — my dad, my sister, my uncles and aunts, and family friends. My nineteen-year-old sister pulled me aside into a bedroom to say our mother was in the hospital.
I asked if she would be alright, just to hear an emphatic, “No.”
“Will she live?” Again, the response was, “No.”
“Can I see her?”
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Then the three words ending my childhood: “She’s already dead.”
The Rest
Part 1: Introduction
Grief is like a rollercoaster.
Normal grief has its ups and downs—but eventually, the ride slows, and you return safely to the station.
Suicide grief looks similar—until it derails. Then come abandonment, shame, and fear. The ride crashes, leaving survivors in the wreckage, trying to rebuild.
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Part 2: Aftermath
I still hear my scream as my mother’s casket was lowered into the ground.
Days later, I walked into school knowing everyone had read the headline:
“Self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
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Part 3: Secrets
Every suicide survivor carries secrets.
Mine?
I once talked the gun out of her hand.
I overheard the call when my father’s girlfriend said she was pregnant.
I hid how she died—and that I had no home for the holidays.
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Part 4: Seeking Redemption
After a DUI and barely graduating high school, I left Tennessee chasing redemption—through education, success, and faith.
But no achievement could hide the truth: I was living with PTSD.
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Part 5: Gaining Insight
Later, I discovered my mother’s family tree was filled with bipolar disorder, addiction, and suicide.
When I spoke up, some called me a demon.
But the truth set me free—it turned anger into compassion.
She wasn’t weak. She was undiagnosed.
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Part 6: Call for Change
Suicide-loss survivors are 64% more likely to attempt suicide themselves.
We must change how we see suicide grief—by finding informed professionals, understanding genetic risk, and embracing compassion over condemnation.
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Part 7: A Vision for Healing (If Appropriate)
Imagine a place where survivors could come to restore connection—with others who understand, and with professionals trained in suicide grief.
A place to rebuild meaning—and rediscover hope.
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Part 8: Closing
If someone you know has lost a loved one to suicide—don’t disappear.
Show up. Listen. Stay.
Because the path from fear to love runs through forgiveness.
It’s time to Serve Love.
Why I Want to Do This
Because suicide grief is a silent storm that most of us don’t understand — even the ones living through it — and I want to share my journey so survivors can move through the space between fear and love, toward forgiveness, and so we can all learn how to truly support them.
My Ultimate Goal
My goal is to help those carrying invisible grief find language, community, and hope. In my talk, I explore the emotional, psychological, and spiritual dimensions of suicide loss, and I want to shift the conversation from fear and blame to empathy and forgiveness. Ultimately, I hope this inspires the creation of spaces where survivors can heal together — mind, heart, and spirit.
Why It Matters
Every year, 275,000 people are left behind by suicide — enough to fill Yankee Stadium five times — and survivors of suicide loss are 64% more likely to struggle with suicidal thoughts themselves; part of this may be genetic, but much comes from carrying secrets and pain that block forgiveness, living too often in fear — it’s time to Serve Love.
About Brian Hill
I’ve traveled a long road — from devastating teenage years and barely graduating high school to earning college and graduate degrees in Europe and working as an international management consultant. But my journey wasn’t just about achievement. Spiritually, I sought healing, traveling to Jerusalem to wash my eyes in the Pool of Siloam, just as Jesus told the blind man to do, and I learned that the only way to gain my sight was through forgiveness — the space between fear and love.