How Losing My Best Friend to Suicide Changed My Life: A Story of Grief, Healing, and Finding Hope

 

Grief is a strange, ever-shifting companion. It's unpredictable, much like the friend I lost—my best friend, Desiree. Sharing her story is both an act of love and a step toward healing. This is my way of honoring her memory, exploring the profound lessons she left me with, and encouraging others—especially single moms like us—to prioritize self-care in all its forms.

A Friendship Like No Other

I met Desiree in middle school, and she was everything the rumors said she would be: bold, unpredictable, and a little wild. The first time I saw her, she had this bleached orange hair—like, just bleached—and it was as uncontained as her spirit. Back then, people called her "crazy," a word that held little compassion or understanding. I admit I was hesitant to get close to her, but fate had other plans.

A school project paired us together, and that was all it took. Beneath her fiery exterior was a kind, hilarious, and brilliant person. We clicked instantly. Soon, she was riding in the back seat of my mom's SUV, both of us belting out Mary J. Blige at the top of our lungs. Those moments were pure joy—untouched by the pain and challenges that came later.

Parallel Lives

As life took us to different high schools, our friendship quieted, though never disappeared. Desiree’s life wasn’t easy. She practically raised herself, enduring family dynamics steeped in generational trauma. She faced periods of instability that even extended to basic things like internet access. Despite everything, she remained vibrant—wickedly smart and full of love and light.

We reconnected in our early 20s, as young moms. Both of us had daughters just a few months apart. Rebuilding our friendship felt effortless, as though no time had passed. She had grown so much, as had I. Together, we navigated the chaos of single motherhood, laughing about the absurdities while leaning on each other during the hard times.

Desiree was a devoted mom. She was also chaotic, in a way that was endearing but complex. Chaos, I’ve learned, has two sides: one lighthearted and fun, the other dark and heavy. While Desiree radiated light, she also carried an unshakable darkness.

Her Struggles and Strength

Desiree had experienced moments of suicidal ideation before. She even hinted at attempts in the past. Knowing this didn’t make it easier to process her passing—it only deepened the heartbreak. Desiree fought so hard to survive, to care for her daughter, and to hold on to the goodness she gave so freely to others.

I received the call that shattered my world. Losing her was like losing a piece of myself, one I could never replace. The grief wasn’t just for her absence, but for everything she endured, for the pain she didn’t deserve, and for the beautiful, complicated person the world lost far too soon.

The Hardest Goodbye: Losing My Best Friend

By the time Desiree sent me that last text message, I didn’t know it would be the last. It wasn’t unusual for her to say, “I love you,” out of the blue. That was the kind of relationship we had—raw, unfiltered, and fiercely supportive. I thought nothing of it in the moment because that was just us, pouring love into each other as we navigated our messy lives.

I was busy at work, determined to focus and avoid distractions, so I didn’t reply right away. I told myself I’d respond later, not knowing there wouldn’t be a later. That text would haunt me in the days to come, as the realization of what I missed set in like a slow-burning fire.

The next day, I got a message on Instagram from someone I didn’t know. They asked if I’d heard about Desiree. My heart sank, but I brushed it off as drama with her soon-to-be ex. I screenshotted the message and sent it to her, expecting her to laugh it off or roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. But she didn’t reply.

When I followed up with the stranger, their words shattered my world: Desiree was gone.

At first, I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t. I retraced every moment, replayed every conversation, and questioned everything I knew. The night before, she wasn’t just my best friend; she was my lifeline, my sister in survival. How could someone so vibrant, so her, just be gone?

I remember collapsing by my bed, tears pouring out in a way I didn’t think was possible. It wasn’t just grief; it was disbelief, regret, and anger wrapped into one unbearable weight. I screamed into the emptiness, my heart begging for it to be untrue.

The memories of her hug that last weekend replayed in my mind. It was longer than usual, and there was something in her eyes—a depth I hadn’t understood at the time. She had said goodbye without saying it, and I didn’t see it. I blamed myself for not seeing it, for not prying, for waiting to reply to her last “I love you.”

In the days and weeks that followed, I learned the depths of her pain—pain she’d hidden beneath her strength and humor. She had given so much of herself to everyone else that there was nothing left for her. And while I’ll never stop wishing I could’ve done more, I’ve come to realize that her choice wasn’t my fault.

Desiree’s passing is why I do what I do now. I can’t bring her back, but I can honor her. I pour my grief and love into supporting other single moms who feel unseen, unheard, or overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Desiree’s story isn’t just hers; it’s a reminder of what can happen when we don’t have the support we need, when we’re so strong for everyone else that we forget to be strong for ourselves.

I share this because there’s someone out there who needs to hear it. If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone. And if you’ve ever hesitated to tell someone you love them, don’t. Because love—real, messy, human love—can be the thing that saves someone. Or at least, it can remind them they’re worth saving.

Desiree, I love you. I’ll keep saying it every day, for you and for every mom who needs to hear it.

If you’re ready to start your own healing journey, I want to be there for you. Let’s walk this path together. Text "glow" to 667-222-3798 to become one of my besties. I’m here to offer support, guidance, and the encouragement you need to rediscover your joy and strength. You deserve to heal, to feel loved, and to find hope again. Let’s do this together.

If You or Someone You Know is Struggling

Losing someone you care about to suicide is a pain that no one should have to endure. If you or someone you know is feeling overwhelmed, hopeless, or considering self-harm, know that help is available, and you are not alone.

In the U.S., you can reach out to the following resources for support:

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (now 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline): Dial 988 or visit 988lifeline.org for confidential support 24/7.
• Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 to connect with a trained crisis counselor.
• The Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ support): Call 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678678.
• Veterans Crisis Line: Dial 988, then press 1, or text 838255.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out (to them, not me. I can help once you're out of crisis)—there’s no shame in seeking help. You are valued, loved, and deserving of support.