A Prayer for Survivors of Suicide Loss

Pastor Todd’s Prayer opening AFSP International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day in Carmel:

God of mercy,

God who sees every hidden tear and hears every unspoken ache…

As we gather in this sacred moment on International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day, we come to You holding stories that are heavy, memories that still tremble, and questions that have never quite found words.

We stand here carrying the weight of loved ones whose lives ended in a way our hearts were never prepared for.

And today, Lord, before we say anything else, we honor them.

We honor their names, their laughter, their humanity, their battles, and their brilliance.

And we honor every person in this room who has survived the unimaginable.

We pray you hold each heart’s grief. We pray you hold each of those who could not be here or could not overcome a heavy barrier or chain to be here. One that grips their hearts, minds and body.

Lord, please pour out your love and comfort for them and us right in this moment. Hold, lift, and guard each of us—no matter where—from the lies that seek to burden and chain healing with guilt, shame or regret.

You see each one of us. You know each one of us. You hold each one of us.

God, we ask for what feels almost impossible on days like this:

We ask for comfort that endures,

for healing that doesn’t rush or shame,

for moments of relief in the middle of pain that comes in waves.

We ask You to steady the hearts that woke up today with anniversaries on their minds, or with memories that still pierce unexpectedly.

Wrap Your arms around those who feel lonely in their grief, those who carry guilt that doesn’t belong to them, and those who still struggle with the question, “Why?”

Lord, You are gentle with our “why.”

Teach us to be gentle with ourselves, too.

We pray for a community that holds one another up—that listens without judgment, that surrounds without smothering, that allows every form of grief to find a home here.

Let this room be a place where no one has to pretend to be okay, and no one has to carry their story alone.

And God… we also ask for light. Not the kind that denies the dark, but the kind that gently rises within it. The kind that reminds us that love is stronger than stigma, stronger than shame, and stronger than the silence that often surrounds suicide loss.

May the light of love—Your love—shine bright enough today to break through the dark cloak of stigma, to speak dignity over every life represented, and to whisper hope back into places that feel numb or forgotten.

God, for each survivor here, give strength for this moment, grace for this breath, and hope that is patient enough to grow at their pace.

And for those we lost—hold them close. Let their memories be honored with tenderness and truth. And carry us, Lord, as we remember, as we grieve, and as we reach for healing one breath at a time.

Lord, Be near.

Lord, Be gentle.

Lord, Be our refuge and our hope.

We ask all of this in the name of the God who weeps with us and walks with us.

Amen.

Paster Todd Matthews, First Baptist Church of Brewster

Jenna’s Story of Hope

Jenna’s inspirational story of hope:

”When I was 15 years old, I suffered from severe depression after losing two people to suicide within a very short time frame. Though these were not friends, they were individuals who I cared for deeply and the deaths came as a complete shock. I was at a very young age and could not understand what was happening. I then began to suffer from severe depression myself and depression can be such a liar. Depression will trick you into thinking that things will never get better and leave you with feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. That is exactly what happened to me during the darkest time of my life. When I went to sleep one night, in the same saddened and discouraged state I was always in at this time in my life, I had a dream that changed everything. You may be familiar with Rachel Joy Scott, who passed away in a shooting in 1999. She was known for her compassionate and forgiving nature, which I felt inspired by. In this dream,, Rachel and I were going on several adventures, things that I love doing/have always wanted to do such as sledding down a snow covered hill and having the time of our lives. It was the friendship that I didn’t have that I desperately needed. A best friend. When we got to the end of the dream, there was something chasing us. We were in a school building and we got to the exit sign and I told her that it was our time to run, to escape freely. When I told her that, she looked at me sternly and said ”This is my time, not yours. But I will see you again someday when it is your time and we will continue our beautiful friendship”. I cried tears of joy and shock that something so rare and beautiful could have happened to me, that I was saved by someone in something that felt like much more than a dream but an actual experience with a best friend. With that being said, there is time for you to change and it really won’t be like this forever. There is a world of people who love and care about you and a sea of experiences of beautiful moments that you have not yet experienced. You owe it to yourself to experience them.   Romans 8:18 The pain that you are experiencing cannot compare to the joy that is coming”.

Jenna

The After Flo of Suicide by Mary Evelyn

This poem by Mary Evelyn expresses her personal journey through grief and hope:

The after flo of suicide 

In the quiet of a room where laughter used to bloom, 
Echoes linger softly, shadows fill the gloom. 
A chair sits unoccupied, a favorite book unread, 
In the heart of those who loved him, a heavy weight of dread.

Children’s eyes, once bright with joy, now clouded with despair, 
They search for answers in the air, but find a vacant stare. 
“What did we miss? What could we do?” they whisper in the night, 
A puzzle with missing pieces, lost beyond their sight.

The wife, she walks through memories, each smile now a tear, 
A love that once felt endless, now filled with silent fear. 
She holds the weight of questions, of dreams that slipped away, 
In the silence of the mornings, where hope has gone astray.

Friends gather in the twilight, sharing stories of the past, 
Yet in their laughter lingers, a shadow that’s been cast. 
They reminisce of good times, but can’t escape the pain, 
Each joke a fleeting moment, a reminder of the rain.

“Why didn’t we see the signs?” they ponder in regret, 
Wishing they could turn back time, to lessen this upset. 
Yet in their hearts, a seed still grows, of love that won’t decay, 
A bond that ties them closer, in a world that feels so gray. 

 So let them share their sorrow, let them weep and let them heal, 
For in the depths of anguish, the truth is what they feel. 
Together they will navigate the darkness and the light, 
Finding strength in one another, through the long and lonely night.

And though the hurt may linger, and the questions may remain, 
In every tear and memory, they’ll find a way to gain. 
A legacy of love endures, in whispers soft and kind, 
For those who’ve left this world too soon, still linger in the mind 

Mary Evelyn 

 

Dr. Mary Rodda’s Words of Comfort and Support

Dr. Rodda addressed those in attendance at the International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day with these inspirational thoughts:

Today we gather to honor lives touched by suicide and to support one another as we navigate the quiet, often difficult journey of grief. International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day is a chance to acknowledge a truth that can be hard to name: grief is personal, complex, and uniquely our own.

To those in attendance who carry the weight of loss in your own way, I want you to know this: there is no right or wrong pattern to grief. There is no timeline, no checklist, no “one-size-fits-all” map. Grief shows up differently for each of us, and that is not a sign of weakness or a failure to “move on.” It is a testament to the depth of what we loved and the impact of what was lost.

Our individual journeys may include moments of quiet sorrow, bursts of anger, sudden laughter, or a day that feels like moving through molasses. Some days may bring a sense of closeness to the person who died, others a sense of distance or numbness. Some may seek solace in memories, others in new routines, and some may feel held by faith, by science, by community, or by stillness. All of these experiences are valid. All are part of healing.

We also acknowledge that grief often travels with other emotions—confusion, guilt, anger, relief, relief interwoven with sorrow. We may worry that our feelings are too “heavy” for others to bear. I want to say plainly: your feelings are real, they are yours, and they deserve space, time, and care.

In this moment, we stand together to offer three commitments to one another:

– First, to listen with patience and without judgment. Your story matters, and your words deserve to be heard exactly as you share them.
– Second, to honor boundaries and pace. There is power in choosing when to share, when to pause, and when to seek help. Your pace is the right pace.
– Third, to extend hope without pressure. Hope may look like a small breath, a moment of connection, or a decision to seek support. It is enough that you continue to show up for yourself and for the people who matter to you.

Let us also remember that healing does not mean forgetting. It means learning to carry memories with tenderness, integration, and meaning. It means building a life in which the love you hold for the person who died continues to shape your choices, your compassion, and your resilience.

To the families, friends, partners, and communities who have been left behind: you are not alone. Your pain is real, and your resilience is real. It takes courage to face a world that still carries your loved one in invisible ways—through photos tucked into a wallet, a song that won’t end, a scent that triggers a memory, a story you tell again and again with different listeners. May you find gentle reminders that you are seen, you are heard, and you are valued.

To those who are still healing in their own way, and to those who support them—caring for ourselves is an act of love. If today feels heavy, that is a normal part of the process. If today feels hopeful, that is also part of the process. Neither negates the other.

As a community, let us strengthen our bridges of understanding: to reach out in small, meaningful ways; to check in with a simple message; to offer a seat, a cup of tea, a listening ear, or the space to cry, to laugh, to rest. Let us reduce stigma so that seeking help—whether through friends, family, counselors, support groups, or professional care—becomes a sign of strength, not a burden.

Finally, I want to leave you with this: your grief is a thread that connects you to a larger story of humanity. It is a testament to the love you carried and continue to carry. It is a beacon reminding us to show compassion, to be present, and to build communities where every loss is acknowledged, every voice is respected, and every path toward healing is honored.

Thank you for the courage you bring to this day. Thank you for the care you extend to others. And thank you for the ongoing light you carry, even on the days it feels hardest to find.

If you or someone you know is hurting right now, please reach out to a trusted person, a local helpline, or a mental health professional. You deserve support, and you deserve the chance to heal.

Together, we remember. Together, we heal. Together, we move forward—with empathy, with dignity, and with hope.

Dr. Mary Rodda