Introduction: When Grief Doesn’t Wait
What do you do when your world comes crashing down—not once, but three times in six weeks?
In 2022, Betsy Stephenson’s son Charlie transitioned into spirit at age 21, just eleven weeks after first expressing thoughts of self-harm. In that same devastating season, Betsy’s mother-in-law passed from dementia, and their beloved family dog Bear died of cancer.
Most people would crumble under that weight.
But Betsy did something bold. She didn’t wait until the grief settled. She started writing from the depths of her wound. That writing eventually became her book:Blackbird: A Mother’s Reflection on Loss, Grief, and Life After Suicide
In this episode of Grief 2 Growth, host Brian Smith speaks with Betsy about grieving after a child’s suicide, surviving overwhelming loss, and staying spiritually connected with those who have transitioned.
💬 “You have to tell yourself a story you can live with.” — Betsy
This is her story. But parts of it might also be yours.
Feel free to share this with someone who could use it.
1. Charlie’s Light: A Life Still Shining
Charlie wasn’t the loudest person in the room. But he was often the most grounded.
As the youngest of three, he had a calm, watchful presence from an early age. He was the kind of friend people turned to when they were struggling—the safe space, the listener, the steady rock.
Charlie made people feel seen.
💬 “He was the guy people went to when they needed someone who would just sit with them.”
He had a dry, quick sense of humor that would catch you off guard. And even though he was quiet, he wasn’t shy. Charlie drew people in with presence, not volume.
To this day, Betsy speaks about him in the present tense. And not out of denial—but because Charlie is still here. His presence lives on in conversation, memory, and love.
2. When the Unthinkable Happens
Charlie’s transition into spirit wasn’t something the family saw coming—at least not right away.
He had never shown signs of depression or anxiety growing up. But something began to shift during his junior year of college, a couple of years after the pandemic began. He started feeling unmotivated, anxious, and low.
One day, Betsy got a call from one of Charlie’s friends. He had expressed suicidal thoughts.
Betsy dropped everything and flew to Texas. She stayed in a hotel near campus, sat with him, supported him, and helped him get back into therapy. They worked together to create a safety plan and ensure he had the support he needed.
💬 “He was crying. He hadn’t cried since he was little. He was vulnerable, and I thought we were turning a corner.”
Charlie had future plans—he was going on a trip with friends, had a job lined up, and was continuing school. Things seemed hopeful.
And then, eleven weeks later, he was gone.
3. The Unique Weight of Suicide Grief
Grieving after a child’s suicide brings with it a very particular kind of pain.
There’s shock, sorrow—and often, a profound guilt.
💬 “I don’t hold myself fully responsible. But as a mom, I can’t quite let myself off the hook.”
Brian gently reminds listeners: suicide is not something that love alone can prevent. But that doesn’t stop the flood of questions:“What if I’d done more?”“What if I had made him come home?”“What if I had just said the right thing?”
Betsy doesn’t suppress those questions. She lets them come. She follows them to their end—not to punish herself, but to understand.
Eventually, she realized most of them don’t have answers.
4. Grieving Through the Wound, Not the Scar
Betsy’s publisher advised her to wait before writing. The common wisdom is to “write from your scar, not from your wound.”
But Betsy couldn’t wait.
She needed to write while the grief was fresh, raw, and present. She needed to make sense of the chaos through language, even if that language was full of pain.
💬 “I wanted to write the book I needed but couldn’t find.”
She found that many grief books were either memoirs written from years in the future—or clinical texts by therapists and experts.
What she needed was someone in the mess. Someone whose wound was still open. Someone who wasn’t okay.
And so she wrote Blackbird.
5. Three Transitions in Six Weeks
Charlie’s transition wasn’t the only one.
During the same six-week stretch, Betsy’s mother-in-law, who had been in memory care, began declining rapidly and passed shortly after Charlie’s funeral.
Three weeks later, their dog Bear collapsed and passed outside of Charlie’s bedroom.
💬 “You can’t tell me that wasn’t a sign. That wasn’t a message.”
Betsy speaks about Bear’s death not just as the loss of a pet, but as a spiritual punctuation mark in a season of release.
The grief was layered. And it wasn’t linear. But it gave Betsy a new devotion to understanding the nature of transition, both physical and spiritual.
6. Relearning How to Function
After so much pain, Betsy shut down.
She stopped going out. She only visited three places. She needed support even to do everyday things.
Grief had stripped her identity, her motivation, and even her sense of self.
💬 “I wasn’t interested in the world. I wasn’t curious. Everything died with Charlie.”
And yet, little by little, she began reclaiming her life.
First with therapy. Then with writing. Eventually, she began reaching out again. She started initiating things—dinner with friends, walks, connections.
She didn’t feel “healed.” But she felt capable.
That was enough.
7. Keeping Charlie’s Spirit Alive
One of the most powerful moments in the interview comes when Brian observes that Betsy refers to Charlie in the present tense.
Her reply?
💬 “Because he’s still here.”
Charlie’s memory isn’t just preserved in scrapbooks or anniversary posts. He’s part of everyday conversations.
“We’ll say, ‘Charlie would’ve loved this’ or ‘I wonder what he would’ve said about that.’” His sisters talk about him. His friends still reach out.
He lives through them.
And that is spirit work—the daily, conscious act of remembering.
8. What Her Book Is Doing for Others
Betsy didn’t write Blackbird for closure. She wrote it because she didn’t want to hide.
Now, people are reading it and saying:“Me too.”“Now I understand what my friend is going through.”“I thought I was the only one.”
💬 “That feedback keeps me going.”
The book doesn’t try to fix anyone. It doesn’t offer neat answers. It offers company.
And sometimes, being witnessed is what heals us most.
9. The Universal Nature of Grief
At some point in grief, we look up and see the world again.
Betsy describes going out into public, still reeling from Charlie’s transition, and realizing:Everyone here has—or will—experience this.
Grief is universal. And yet, it’s also deeply personal.
💬 “Everyone has to tell their own story. My husband’s story is different than mine. So are Charlie’s sisters’. But we respect that.”
There is no one way to grieve. There is no checklist. There’s only honesty, presence, and space.
10. The Story You Can Live With
If there’s one message Betsy leaves us with, it’s this:
“You have to tell yourself a story you can live with.”
Not a sugar-coated version. Not one that pleases others. One that keeps you breathing.
Whether you’re grieving after a child’s suicide, after a sudden illness, or after the slow decline of a loved one—you need a story that honors your truth and gives you the strength to keep living.
Grief 2 Growth is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
🌿 Final Thoughts
Betsy’s story isn’t about getting over grief.
It’s about walking through it, broken but brave, and saying: “I’m still here.”
Whether you're grieving a child, a parent, a partner, or a beloved pet, know this:
* Your pain is valid.
* Your grief has no expiration date.
* And your story—no matter how messy—matters.
💬 “You’re not doing grief wrong. You’re doing it your way.”
🕊️ Join the Conversation
💬 What story are you telling yourself in your grief?Come share it with us at grief2growth.com/community
🔗 Resources
* 📘 Buy Blackbird by Betsy Thiebaud Stephenson:
* 📸 Follow Betsy on Instagram: @blackbirdbetsy21
* 🎧 Listen to the full episode on Grief 2 Growth Podcast
I know there are a lot of newsletters you can support, and subscription fatigue is real. If you’d like to leave a one-time donation instead of subscribing, it would be very much appreciated. Click the image below to leave a tip.
