“Grief also makes us someone who talks to butterflies.” 

We think we know grief. Growing up, we might attend the funeral of our grandparent or family friend. We feel sorrow and get ready for the service, thinking their funeral is the hardest day and with time, our grief will ease. I didn’t know there was another kind of grief that existed. 

In 2022, we lost our 18 year old son Riley to a sudden mental health crisis. 

He died by suicide in a car crash, hitting a Semi-truck head on.

We had no note, no warning. 

Life as I knew it ended that day. If you are a bereaved parent, you know the excruciating sorrow, grief, longing and heartbreak. We walk around like a zombie. Our will to continue forward is holding on by a gossamer thread. The lonely silence of being in the grief cave was terrifying and I felt consumed with darkness, death and confusion. 

In those early days of grief, in my most searing pain, I began to notice things.  Hearts. Music. Rainbows. Birds singing. 

This noticing brought glimmers of light that beamed through the shadows. 

As days drifted into months, looking for signs like these helped me think of his life. Riley’s music, light, creativity, kindness and love are what I hold close to my heart. I carry him with me. I hope you look for glimmers along this path and know that you are not alone. 

Melissa H. 
Riley and Katie’s mom