Honoring the Mother: Grief, Order, and Dignity After Suicide Loss
This reflection is a personal experience of grief, order, and belonging.
It is not intended as guidance, but as an invitation to presence and somatic integration.
“You’re going to take on a mother of three!? Absolutely not. You support the mother of your own children first.”
The Gravity of Loss and the Order of Grief
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In constellation work, the mother of the children stands before the woman who comes later. Not because love is scarce. But because life came first. It’s cosmic order. Divinity at work. Benevolent unconditional love on purpose.
I bow to this order.
The order spoke while I was still bleeding as a suicide widow and mother to three beautiful souls.
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This is a love letter to the matriarchal wisdom. The knowing that a mother’s place in the system is sacred. Her magic, her labor, her body, and her knowing deserve an unshakeable honor.
This is one of those life moments where you hold the paradox and surrender in devotion. Deep reverence for what her creative life force has brought into being. For her. Just as she is. For her sacred medicine—seen and unseen.
The grief of what has been lost in the system of belonging is real. It is so awakeningly, painfully real that it reshapes the way you understand love, lineage, and home. This is where integration begins by allowing reverence and grief to coexist.
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Sacred Mother, I hear you.
You are not to be replaced.
Sacred Father, I hear you.
You stood inside the vow you had already made.
And I—I stood between them. Loving her place in the system. And grieving the life that could not come to me.
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Mother, I hear you.
The truth reached me while I was still bleeding.
Father, I hear you.
Honoring the order meant remembering that I do not come first and learning how to respect my place without abandoning myself.
Reorganizing the Nervous System After Loss
When she said, “You’re going to take on a mother of three? Absolutely not,” it hurt like hell. In that moment, I did not feel like a woman or a mother; I felt like a burden to be “taken on,” a case to be managed, not a human being worthy of love and support.
This had nothing to do with them and everything to do with what I had already lost and was still scrambling to process. It was one of those moments when two things can be true at once. The order itself is holy and correct, and the reality of being both mother and father, standing alone in my position, was painfully blinding.
The words said were not wrong. They were the medicine. They were divinity.
The timing was the activation.
He was standing inside his responsibility.
She was standing inside her experience.
And I was standing inside loss that had not yet made sense to me.
What I understand now is that matriarchal wisdom did not misjudge the order. It simply could not see what suicide grief does to a woman’s nervous system and its soul’s initiation journey. In that rawness, I did not need to be rescued. I was strong on my own.
The soul is most endangered after a sudden, violent loss, when instinct has not yet reorganized. I was still reorganizing my nervous system after a psychic amputation, the death by suicide of the father of my children.
My soul was screaming—hear me. See me. I’m strong on my own. I do not want to be saved. I honor you. I am advocating for you, sister.
And I learned that even in my grief and my story, dignity remains. A woman can bow to what is right and still name what hurt without abandoning benevolent love or cosmic order.
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