
Bereavement Series: Mary’s story
Published July 18th, 2025
Written by: Isabel Munsie
We are sharing personal stories from those who have experienced suicide grief. These reflections may offer connection, comfort, or a sense of understanding to others navigating a similar loss. This is one story in our series. You can find all of our stories on our updates page.
This story discusses themes that readers may find upsetting. If you or someone you know is struggling or needs help, support is available.
Mary met Philip for coffee in 2010 after matching on Eharmony. Coffee turned into dinner, which led to a relationship, which culminated in marriage. It was easy for Mary to be drawn to Philip— he was handsome, funny and had a natural charisma that kept their conversation flowing as they navigated the early stages of dating.
In 2013 Philip proposed on Christmas by asking Mary’s niece to test out the filming capabilities of his new IPad, whereupon he proceeded to get down on one knee and pop the question in front of Mary’s family. Mary, the more reserved half to Philip’s extroverted half, would have preferred a quieter affair, but was happy to accept the proposal nonetheless. The act of balancing one another was already a part of their dynamic and would continue during their marriage when they tied the knot two years later.
Philip loved to host people, and during their dinners they balanced the tasks by him cooking the meat and Mary preparing the side dishes. And when it came to physical activity, Philip would gently push Mary outside of her comfort zone, guiding her on walks, hikes and bike rides— where even if he overtook her, he would always wait patiently for her to catch up. In turn, she supported his endeavours with triathlons and later his Iron Man training. “I went to every race he attended. It didn’t matter if we had to be up at 6, I’d be there.” She was proud of everything he accomplished, both physically and in his career as a software engineer, and he in turn valued her patience and practical, calm nature. Their marriage was a stable and fulfilling partnership.
In the Spring of 2021 Philip suffered a back injury and experienced sciatica in its aftermath. Sciatica is characterized by an injury to the sciatic nerves causing pain, inflammation and tingling. Sometimes it goes away on its own as it had for Philip in a previous instance, but other times it becomes chronic and complicates other localized pain, as it did with Philip’s second experience. It was the first time that “he had an injury that left him unable to exercise in the scheduled, regimented and rigorous way that he was accustomed to.”
When somebody builds their life, happiness and mental-wellbeing around a routine, and that routine is disrupted, it becomes a loss of life in its own right. Philip passed from suicide in 2023— a decision that has impacted many, but which deserves empathy.
When Mary’s initial shock subsided, she was left with a persisting denial. In our culture, we have popularized “the five stages of grief” as a linear roadmap for grief, when that couldn’t be further from most peoples’ experiences. Denial is touted as the first of these stages, when in fact it can pop up at any time in the grieving process and linger for far longer than one might expect. Mary believed the reality of her situation was too great for her system to handle, and she found that she frequently had to remind herself of the truth, repeatedly breaking down the barriers of compartmentalization. Only recently has she been able to acutely sit with the grief. “I still don’t want it. I still don’t like it, but I’m no longer actively pushing it away like in the beginning.”
In the immediate weeks and months after her husband’s passing, Mary grounded herself in the present by taking care of their dog. She had wanted a small dog; he had wanted a large one— in the end, he won. But Mary was glad she had a large, active dog to go on walks with and take care of. It became a constant in her routine.
“I still don’t want it. I still don’t like it, but I’m no longer actively pushing it away like in the beginning.”
Mary sought counselling in the immediate aftermath, and then a friend suggested an eight week online grief support group. Then later, she attended the Crisis Centre’s walking group and from there was referred to our in-person support group. For Mary, having the sense of community of the in-person events and groups was particularly healing. “Other people in the group were able to articulate things that I was feeling, that I either couldn’t bring myself to say or couldn’t find a way to say.” She was able to form connections easier, even meeting a woman with similar circumstances to whom she could further open up. Mary cites attending the groups as crucial in moving through her avoidance, and urges those processing grief to seek out support groups when possible, even if they seem daunting. Being in a group space is beneficial even if you’re not the one doing the bulk of the talking or processing.
Support also extends to the immediate circle of our friends and family. There too, Mary has some sage advice: When offering support, give space for the griever to speak freely, explore memories and show up in whatever emotional state they currently reside— even when they are in the depths of their sadness. Avoid platitudes such as “they’re in a better place,” or “it was God’s plan,” or “everything happens for a reason.” Mary also emphasizes that especially in the early weeks and months, people who want to reach out and offer support should do just that, instead of asking the griever how they best want to be supported. Often, the last thing someone wants to do in the throws of grief is use their limited energy to advocate for their needs.
Recently, Mary has been returning to the routines her and Philip used to share with one another: post-walk ice creams at their favourite parlour, walks in the deep woods, even visiting Algonquin Park, where Philip would camp yearly with friends. And within herself, Mary honours Philip’s generosity. Philip was the type of person to pay for educational courses for his nephew when he was lost on what to do with school, or to buy Mary’s mom a back massager when she was experiencing back pain. Mary tries to emulate his thoughtfulness with others, and keep his humorous spark alive as well, thinking of him often when she meets people with the same sarcastic edge; as with one man at her support group who had the whole room laughing even in moments of darkness.
One of the first subjects Mary brought up in our conversation was her recent foray into vocal lessons. She had once been in a choir and was looking to brush up on her musicality before joining one once again. At the end of our conversation, she brought up the lessons once more and stumbled upon a beautiful metaphor for the grief journey: For the longest time after Philip’s death she couldn’t listen to music, and then she could only listen to music without lyrics, and then she found herself listening to the album with their wedding song, and finally as part of her vocal lessons she’s been learning to sing the music from said album. Every individual journey through grief takes a different path, but in the end we’re all looking to regain our voices.
Crisis support is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 9-8-8 from anywhere in Canada or the US.
If you have experienced a suicide loss, support is available. For resources, contact information, and more details about the suicide grief support offered by the Crisis Centre, see our Suicide Grief Support page.
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