The Ripple Effect - Suicide Loss and the Aftermath - Monique’s Lived Experience
What exactly is a ripple effect? The Cambridge Dictionary defines it as a series of events set in motion by a single action or event. Imagine life as a vast, infinite pond. Each of us exists within our own part of it, creating ripples that echo through our days. Most of the time, it’s our own actions that shape the waters of our lives. But there’s something powerful about the people closest to us—the ones we love most. Their ripples can flow into our space, sometimes gently, and sometimes with the force of a storm. How those ripples affect us often depends on how we choose to perceive them. We can face them with grace, allowing the waves to pass through us, or we can struggle against them, feeling overwhelmed. No matter how prepared we think we are, these waves often come—sometimes expected, sometimes completely unforeseen. But no matter the nature of the ripple, it’s something we must face. Whether we plan for it or not, life has a way of reminding us that we are all connected, and every action, every moment, creates a ripple that we must navigate with courage, acceptance, and love.
My mom was the heartbeat of our home, the light in every room. Her voice filled the air, bouncing off walls and weaving through the spaces, like music you didn’t want to stop hearing. Her laugh—it was contagious, filling every corner of the house with warmth. She was the kind of mom who was always present, always there. I can still see her at the edge of the sports field, cheering me on with all her might, or touring with the school choir, giving up her whole day just to watch me perform. She was there, without question, without hesitation, every single time. And when I became an adult, that presence didn’t fade. We still spoke every day, sometimes for hours at a time, sharing everything from the small details of our day to the big dreams and worries we carried. There was never an awkward silence when she was around. Her spirit filled the room, making everything feel easy, natural.
But then, something started to change. It began slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. My mom, who had always been vibrant and full of life, began to slip into a silence that wasn’t hers. The energy she had always carried with her seemed to fade. It wasn’t a cold or distant silence, but one of quiet struggle—like a storm building far off, before it could be seen on the horizon. She wasn’t just tired. She wasn’t just a little under the weather. It was something else, something deeper. The sickness came without warning. Depression. It struck suddenly, unexpectedly, and with no explanation. I hesitate to even call it a "sickness," but that's exactly what it felt like—something that slowly poisoned her from the inside out, something invisible yet so incredibly real. Where many people battle depression for years, my mom’s journey with it was devastatingly brief, lasting only about five months. But in those five months, it consumed her in ways none of us could have ever predicted. It wasn’t just an emotional struggle; it was a complete upheaval, a tidal wave that swept through our lives.
The ripples of her depression stretched far beyond what we could have imagined, crashing into everything we knew, altering the landscape of our family in ways we hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just the silence that grew; it was a darkness that took hold of her, one we couldn’t chase away, no matter how hard we tried. The waves it created were stronger, more powerful than any of us could have anticipated. And with every passing day, we realised more and more that nothing—absolutely nothing—could prepare us for the force of this particular ripple.
It started slowly in February 2024 with physical symptoms of illness being prevalent. Doctor's visit after doctor's visit, test after test and no one could find any cause for the concern. We all assumed that getting out of her environment and having her visit us would be good for her and hopefully get her feeling relaxed and healthy again. That was until eventually one evening after rushing her to the emergency room from severe pain and holding her hand at 01:00, where they found her gallbladder to be enlarged, full of gallstones and needing to be removed as soon as possible.
She underwent the cholecystectomy in April of 2024, with all of us hoping for this to be a turning point for her to start getting better. As she lived 1700 kilometers away, I flew up for 2 weeks to care for her while my dad worked his night shift job. Unfortunately, instead of getting better, her paranoia and anxiety only became worse, speaking of her passing every moment she was awake. I stayed up all night out of fear of her passing, keeping my fitness watch on her wrist to monitor her heart rate and working while I kept a close eye on her. I remember crying while she slept, begging to God to heal her and bring back the happy, peaceful and healthy Mom that I used to know. During my 2-week visit, she had 5 more emergency room visits with 3 doctor's visits in between. During her one hospital visit, still no diagnosis was made to bring light to the serious pain she was expressing. All of the doctors highlighted their worry about her mental health and readily asked us if she suffered with depression.
On 6th May 2024, a day after my 28th birthday, she had her first suicide attempt, and it was a triple threat. This mother of mine was determined to end her life. That day was the day I realised that the mother I knew was no longer there. She would not be able to return to being the woman who believed suicide was never an option and that you are stronger than any adversity you face. This strong woman who survived so much was killed off by the illness of depression and we started feeling the ripple effect enter our own lives.
On 9th May, my Mom voluntarily admitted herself to a psychiatric hospital, where she was again consumed by her waves of depression. On 31st May 2024 I flew back to surprise her on her release from hospital, but the woman I saw walking out was no longer my mother. She was frail, scared, anxious and heavily medicated. I remember waking up to her lying in a fetal position, her eyes big like a deer in the headlights and she kept muttering "I don't want to die" on a repeated loop. She kept deteriorating from that point onwards, having suicide attempt after suicide attempt. I could not focus on work, I did not sleep and was researching carers for her at home, reading up on alternative treatments to help get her appetite up, staying on the phone with her so she could eat and drink some water. During this time myself and my brothers decided as she was not fit to fly to where I was living, she would go stay with my brother and we would all contribute to having her stay there until she could return to any sort of routine. She agreed, after much convincing from all of us, and was scheduled to go there on 28th June 2024.
On 27th June the worst came to light. The morning started just like any other - I sent her a message to say I loved her and asked how her night was. At around 11am my father called me stating that he could not get hold of my Mom via call and that he was at work, so I proceeded to try to call her. None of my 11 calls were answered. I felt the pit in my stomach form. I employed my brothers to also call and see if they could get a hold of her, with no response. At approximately 2pm I told my father that he needed to leave work and go home. At 14:38 on 27th June 2024 I received a frantic call - my Mother had found a spare key to the safe and unfortunately ended her life.
How could this have happened? I still can't fully grasp it, the weight of it all. I remember the moment so vividly. My husband found me on the floor, staring at the mess of tears and helplessness spread across the bedroom floor. I was numb—completely frozen, as if the world had just stopped turning. My eyes couldn’t seem to dry, the tears just kept falling. I had spent so many sleepless nights, staying up researching anything and everything to help her—searching for answers, reading up on how to motivate her, learning breathing exercises to practice with her over the phone, trying to be there for her every step of the way when I could. I worked tirelessly to arrange for a carer, spending money I didn’t have, all to ensure she had the help she needed. Yet, with every phone call, there was this underlying panic, a gnawing fear that today might be the day I got the worst news, the day my deepest fears came true.
And then they did.
The weight of the guilt, the shame, the anger— it all crashed down on me at once. I felt like I was drowning in an ocean of grief and uncertainty. There was no balance anymore, no clarity, no peace. The ripples that had started as small waves became a storm that tore through everything I knew, shifting my entire world.
Since her passing, we have all been left trying to make sense of what happened, each of us grappling with our own grief, each of us searching for some way to understand this unimaginable loss. For me, it’s a constant battle with the weight of both physical and emotional grief, trying to hold everything together—trying to keep everyone from falling apart, while silently shattering inside. I find myself sitting in therapy, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of all that’s transpired, but even now, it doesn’t seem real.
The ripple effect has been like a series of waves that never stopped coming. It’s divided us in ways I never thought possible, pushing us further apart even as we cling to the memories of who she was. I can no longer deny the fragility of my own world—like a pond whose surface is forever disturbed, broken by the chaos this illness brought into every corner of our lives. All I can do now is take life day by day, try to patch up the cracks and heal the wounds left in the wake of the storm.
The pain of what happened has forced me to face an important truth: nothing is predictable, nothing is permanent. Every single moment is fragile and precious, something to hold onto with everything you have.
But even through the pain, I find myself grateful for what my mother taught me. Who I am is a constant reminder of everything good she stood for—her boundless kindness, her unshakeable compassion for others, especially those who needed it most. The ripple of her depression forced so many changes upon us, yet it also made me cherish things I never gave enough thought to before. I hold every lesson, every moment with her close to my heart.
I will never forget her. I will never stop talking about her. I will miss her more than words can express, and I will forever long for just one more moment, one more hug, one more phone call.
