Alex was my oldest of three children. 
He was a natural soccer player. I remember when he kicked the winning goal and his teammates lifted him up, cheering his name. I could see his love for the sport and the love they had for him. 
Alex made friends everywhere he went, even with the homeless...and boy, did he love his siblings. 

Nothing could have prepared me for a conversation we would have in my bedroom when Alex was 17. 
In that conversation, he described exactly how he wanted to kill himself - hanging himself with a belt.

He even admitted to attempting just that. 
As he spoke my heart stopped. I thought “this couldn’t be happening.”The trajectory of our lives changed in that instant. 

Then came an almost month-long hospitalization where Alex was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. 
I knew nothing about this disorder and I scrambled to learn as much as possible.

For the next 9 years I worked to support Alex. He was still there, that beautiful person, but it was difficult because he became addicted to drugs and alcohol. 
I almost lost him several times to suicide or overdose. 
I spent many sleepless nights in tears, afraid. 
My worry was endless. 
The stress and anxiety made me physically ill.

Sometimes Alex lashed out, even though he would apologize afterward.

About 2 ½ years after his diagnosis I realized that if I didn’t find a path to my own peace, I would become consumed with Alex’s illness, drug use, hospital visits, and treatment center stays.

I had a choice - to focus on the fear or ... peace.

God allowed me to choose faith over fear. I replaced my need for certainty with contribution to others.

Instead of trying to control Alex, I focused on what I could do such as advocating for him and loving him.

I also had to work on acceptance. Acceptance allowed me to stop the war within me that had been going on for years, the struggle to fight against reality.

An important piece was working through my grief – grieving the loss of our life prior to his mental illness and addiction.

On January 6, 2022, I received a phone call that Alex had been found dead. He was only 26 years old. 
I felt pain I had never experienced before. 
As I tried to listen to the officer, I felt my world collapsing. 
I had no idea how I would go on.

I spent the early weeks and months in bed.

Then, I remember receiving an email about a writing workshop. Even though I didn’t think I had the capacity, I signed up. By the end, I knew I was supposed to write a book sharing my story of the love and loss of my son through his mental illness and addiction.

It was a book I had begun writing during those sleepless nights. Now I knew it was my purpose to help other parents navigating similar challenges.

I was already a certified life and relationship coach and I began helping parents of teen or adult children with mental illness and addiction. Then I went deeper, became a certified grief educator.

Being able to help others who lost a child because of mental illness and addiction gave my life purpose ... and helped me feel more connected with Alex.

Life does not always give us what we expect. Through my journey I learned how to be present, cherish each opportunity I was given, spend time on what is truly important. 
I want to help you do the same.