About Melissa | Suicide Loss Survivor & Grief Coach

My Story

Sunday, August 7, 2016.

That was the day my 21-year-old son Alex died by suicide.

Until that moment, my life looked much like anyone else’s from the outside. But from that day forward, everything would be measured in before and after.

Alex had just returned to college after spending five weeks at home that summer. We packed his car together, laughed, hugged, and said goodbye as he drove away with his beloved dog Harper beside him.

Just eight days after we said goodbye, my younger son stood in front of me, struggling to say the words a mother is never prepared to hear:

“Alex is dead, Mom.”

For a moment, the world stopped.

Then everything inside me broke. Everything shattered.

All that remained were the leftover pieces.

You see, when something like this happens, it changes you at the deepest, nearly bone-deep, cellular level.

In the years that followed, I learned something most suicide loss survivors eventually discover also: grief like this does indeed change us at the deepest level. We do not simply “get over” it. But with time, support, and intentional work, we can learn to live forward — carrying our children with us.

My own journey through those early years was incredibly lonely. I struggled to find resources, community, and honest conversations about suicide loss. Eventually I realized that if those spaces were hard for me to find, they were likely hard for other grieving parents as well.

So, I began creating the kinds of spaces -- the ones I wished had existed for me.

What started as a simple idea -- a podcast-- became The Leftover Pieces®, a growing platform devoted to honest conversations about suicide loss, grief, and learning to live after unimaginable loss.

Today I still host The Leftover Pieces® Podcast, where I have shared hundreds of conversations with suicide loss survivors, grief professionals, and parents navigating life after the loss of a child.

Alongside the podcast, I now offer private coaching for grieving mothers who are ready to move beyond survival and begin rebuilding trust, identity, and meaning in their lives.

My work also includes writing, speaking, legacy storytelling projects, and creating resources designed to help grieving families feel less alone.

Through all of it, one thing remains true: I am still a grieving mother myself.

There is no pretending here. No sugar-coating. No false promises about grief disappearing.

What I offer instead is honesty, compassion, lived experience, and a safe space to explore what life might look like moving forward.

While nothing about this journey is simple or quick, I believe every grieving parent deserves support as they learn to carry both love and loss.

This road can feel incredibly lonely.

But you do not have to walk it alone.

— Melissa

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Saturday, my life was normal. The very next day, Sunday, August 7, 2016, my normal was devastated; shattered beyond recognition. From that day forward, my life would be measured in 'before' and ‘after’. My oldest son, my middle child, Alex, had been home from college for five weeks. He was 21, an incoming Junior, and was living away from home fulltime, but we were lucky that summer because the restaurant that he worked at closed for two months, and he chose to come home.

That Spring semester, Alex had struggled a bit, as I think many college students do. He graduated with an advanced diploma from high school and was now attending a rigorous academic college. He was in a fraternity and living in their off-campus house by his second year, where he had also taken on a leadership position. He had a serious girlfriend for a year but in January they had called it off. His grades took a hit from having so much on his plate and his mental health followed suit. He saw someone at the school counseling center, but they were overloaded so his visits weren’t productive. He tried telling some of his frat brothers of his struggles. Though he had many friends, and was always there for them, he didn’t like to ‘burden’ anyone so he kept his own struggles inside. He and I talked regularly but he kept his feeling largely from me as well. However, by summer's end, he seemed to be doing well, even by his own account.

On Friday, July 29th, after over 5 weeks at home, I helped Alex pack up his car to head back to college. It was just me, him and his beloved 'girl' Harper (his 2 year old Carolina Dog). We laughed and joked as he gave me a big hug and kiss followed by “Don’t cry mom, I will be home in 2 weeks for Nic's birthday.” That would be the last time we spoke, though we did text a few more times that week. Alex drove away that day, waving and smiling, with his whole future ahead of him. Only eight days later, my youngest son Parker would get a call that would put him standing in front of me struggling to say the words “Alex is dead mom.” Those words will forever ring in a hollow place just beyond my comprehension … life as our family knew it ended in those moments. My heart lay in shattered pieces all around me.

I am still unsure how, and there were times I doubted it could happen, but I survived. Somehow, we have all survived. I have learned that traumatic loss changes us… on a cellular level deep inside. It will not be easy, but I believe you too can survive. We are in this together fellow griever.

You can email me at [email protected]

Alex and Parker in Deadwood. What a great memory!