7 days ago
‘My son took his own life – this is what I want every parent to know'
Warning: This article discusses suicide and might be upsetting for some readers
I glanced out the window and saw a police car coming down our farm driveway.
It was January 2018, the middle of a dry Mallee summer.
My husband, Mick, had already done his usual morning rounds – checking sheep and water before calling it a day early, and we'd just finished dinner when the dogs started barking.
At first, I figured it was one of those routine firearm checks we'd heard were happening on local farms. That's what I told myself, anyway.
But something about it didn't feel right.
I stayed inside while Mick went out to meet the officer. He was out there longer than expected.
Eventually, I stepped outside to see what was going on.
Mick looked pale, like all the colour had drained from his face. The policeman still hadn't gotten out of the car. When he finally did, he didn't head for the shed like I'd assumed.
He walked straight toward me.
'Suzi?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Your son is Murray James Chesser?'
'Yes.' I swallowed hard.
He paused. 'Have you been contacted by someone else?'
'No.'
Then, the words I'll never forget: 'There's been an incident. Murray has passed away. It appears he took his own life.'
In that moment, time froze. My feet turned to concrete. I was numb.
Everything around me blurred – it was exactly like they say in the movies: everything in slow motion, like I was outside my body, watching it all unfold.
I don't remember much after that. Just fragments: Mick pouring us a scotch. Us drinking most of the bottle. I sat at the kitchen table in silence while Mick made the heartbreaking calls to our family and friends.
For most of us, grief is something distant – until it isn't. These scenarios happen to someone else, until they land on your front door and rip your world apart.
That night marked the beginning of the most painful experience of my life.
To me, grief doesn't end. People say time heals, but I don't know – sometimes I feel like the longer it goes on, the worse it gets.
You just learn to function alongside the pain.
When I wrote my book Grief, I wrote the book I felt I needed when he died. In Grief, I share some of the tools that helped me keep going, tools that I want every family, every Australian, to know.
Asking a confronting question could save a life
One of the hardest things about suicide is how often it blindsides families. We assume someone would say something – but often, they don't, or they feel they can't.
If you notice signs or have a gut feeling someone's struggling, trust it. It's better to ask and hear 'no' than to stay silent.
At the very least, they'll know they can come to you – and that talking about suicide is okay.
You can ask directly: 'Are you thinking about suicide?' It's confronting, but research shows it won't plant the idea. For some, it might be the first time they feel safe enough to speak. And if they say yes, it opens the door to connection, support, and next steps.
Listen with compassion, not solutions. You don't need to fix it – just be present. Encourage them to seek professional help. You're not expected to have all the answers, but your support could help save a life.
Grief never goes away – you just learn to function alongside it
Grief is not something you fix. It's not something you solve. Everyone grieves differently. People mean well and want to help but often they don't understand that grief is such a lonely journey.
You can't fast-forward through it. You can't erase it – you can't go back and change things. You just have to function alongside it, put one foot in front of the other, and take each day as it comes – easier said than done, a lot of the time.
Being strong isn't always the answer
Being strong isn't always the answer. Sometimes, I get tired of being strong – I just want to fall apart.
Grief forces you to sit with the pain and start to understand how the brain works: it searches for familiar pathways that no longer exist. That's why grief is so confusing – the brain has to slowly build new ones, and that process takes time.
Your brain keeps searching for them – that's why grief hurts so deeply
My beautiful Muzz was gone, but my brain kept reaching for him – expecting a text, a phone call, a moment of connection.
I thought about him every minute of every day. Every part of me knew he wasn't coming back, but my mind hadn't caught up.
That's the thing about loss – your heart breaks all at once, but your brain takes its time.
You will feel emotionally naked
After Muzz died, I didn't know who I was anymore. I questioned everything.
I didn't want to 'move on' because that felt like I was letting go of him. I still struggle with this today. I was angry, broken, and the only way I could describe it is that I felt emotionally naked.
The question 'Why Muzz? Why me?' played constantly in my mind.
A friend suggested I study Positive Psychology and Wellbeing to help me understand my grief.
Who would have guessed that suggestion would help me find myself? I learned what happens to the brain when we are stressed or grieving, I learned how to lean into my emotions, how that plasticity means we can change.
I started to put what I had learned into practice, and I noticed the changes in my own thought patterns and behaviours.
I began to understand my triggers and the power of my self-talk and how I can manage my behaviour to my emotions more effectively. I'm still a work in progress, but I'm starting to feel the benefits of what I practice.
What tools are on your workbench?
My son was a carpenter and his favourite place was the workbench. He was always building something, fixing, creating, thinking. It was where he seemed to be most at peace.
Just like Muzz had his workbench full of tools, we all need a mental version – a place to lay everything out, make sense of it, and decide what to keep.
This notion stayed with me. So, I created Workbench for the Mind, a practical, self-paced accredited program with Suicide Prevention Australia.
We should all do this more often – we need to identify the tools we already have and the ones we still need. What tools do you have to support you with life's daily challenges and stress levels?
What habits are you practising to reduce stress? How are you breaking unhelpful patterns and what habits do you need to cultivate to support your wellbeing?
Choose life for yourself.
A nutritionist once told me, 'Suzi, Muzz is gone, but you are still here. You need to look after yourself.'
Those words hit something deep inside. In Beautiful Boy, David Sheff wrote, 'Our children live or die with or without us … We cannot choose for our children whether they live or die … I finally chose life for myself.'
I've chosen life.
And if you're grieving, if you're lost, if you're asking, 'what now?' I hope you choose life too.
You are still here. Choose yourself, choose to tell your story, tell your loved one's story to make others not feel so alone and to give some kind of purpose to the tragedy.
