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August 3rd marks 25 years since my son Larkin died by suicide. He was only 22 years old.
Even after all these years, there are moments when it still doesn’t seem possible. People often say time heals all wounds. I have found that time teaches us how to carry the pain, but it never removes the love or the longing.
My son was a Chancellor Scholar at Ole Miss. He was an outstanding baseball pitcher whose dreams seemed limitless. Then a winter baseball practice changed everything. An arm injury ended the career he had worked toward for most of his life. Baseball wasn’t just something he played—it had become part of how he saw himself.
Yet that injury was only one chapter of his life.
He was incredibly intelligent, full of energy, loud in the best way, and the kind of young man who never met a stranger. He loved people, and people loved him. Friends still tell stories about him that make me laugh. Those stories are treasures I hold close.
His brothers, Dickey and Breck, were devastated just as all his family and friends were.
When he died, so many people said the same thing: “I can’t believe it.” The truth is, I still can’t.
If sharing our story helps just one person, then it is worth telling.
To every young person reading this, I want you to know that your value is never determined by your grades, your athletic ability, your popularity, or a dream that suddenly falls apart. Life can change in an instant, but your life still has purpose. When everything feels hopeless, please tell someone. Talk to your parents, a grandparent, a teacher, a coach, a pastor, or a trusted friend. There is strength in asking for help. The people who love you would rather walk through your darkest days with you than spend the rest of their lives wishing they had known how much you were hurting.
To every parent, don’t ever stop asking the hard questions. Listen more than you speak. Tell your children you love them even when they roll their eyes. Let them know they never have to face life’s disappointments alone. We cannot always see the battles taking place inside the hearts of those we love.
If you are a family walking this same road, please know you are not alone. There is no timetable for grief. Twenty-five years later, I still miss my son every single day. I still wonder what his life would have looked like. I still imagine the husband, father, uncle, and friend he might have become.
The pain never completely leaves, but neither does the love.
If anyone ever needs me, just call 601-310-6881 or email Sue Honea.
I can always listen.
I hope you enjoy the pictures! They are so special to me. Sorry for the overload!
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I knew Dickey when this happened. I was a NP in a clinic and he was a pharmaceutical rep.
Losing him is still hard for me to believe, too. Some days, I expect to see him walk in the house when I’m in Magee. Being Larkin’s aunt was a wonderful privilege. All of us loved him. Often, I think about his ball playing, dancing, jumping in the pool while doing a twist, walking on the field at the Ole Miss homecoming, and just loving life.