08/09/2026
For me, this is personal. ❤️
Eight years ago today, my oldest son, Cheyne, left this world by su***de.
Something my Ta**ra teacher reminded me of this morning has stayed with me: no matter how spiritual we are, we cannot spiritualize death.
I have a beautiful and very real spiritual relationship with Cheyne. I feel him. I talk to him. I receive guidance from him. I am deeply grateful for the ways our relationship has continued beyond his physical life.
But I am also his mother.
I am a human being with a human heart, and I miss my son in his physical form. I miss his laugh. His presence. His body. His voice. I miss being able to reach out and touch him.
People may see me surfing, teaching, laughing, traveling, loving my life, and showing up with a lot of strength and courage. All of that is real.
This is real, too.
I have been devastated by the su***de of my son. I carry trauma from his death. There are days when I am strong, and there are days when I am not okay.
Sometimes it is okay not to be okay.
This is part of why Su***de Prevention Month matters so deeply to me. I want to do whatever small part I can to help prevent another person from dying by su***de, and I want those who have survived the su***de of someone they love to know they are not alone.
This year, Cheyne has been asking something different of me:
“Remember my life, Mom.”
So I am.
I am remembering how he lived. His fire. His laughter. His love. The incredible athlete he was. The big brother he was to Skye and Ronin. The beautiful memories we made together.
His death is part of his story, but it is not the meaning of his life.
Today I am making room for all of it—the grief and the gratitude, the human and the spiritual, the tears and the beautiful memories.
Swipe through if you feel called. I hope something here helps someone who needs it today.
I love you forever, Cheyne.
And I will keep remembering how you lived. ❤️
***depreventionmonth ***depreventionawareness ***delosssurvivor