Following is the story of how my son died. I share it so no grieving parent feels alone.

My name is Tammy, and I’m a bereaved mother.

My firstborn son, Larry, died on April 9, 2007 — the day after Easter and one month before his 18th birthday. He was following behind our work van, as he had done nearly every day for a year, when his car malfunctioned and veered into oncoming traffic on Heckscher Drive in North Jacksonville. He collided head‑on with an SUV. His father, Darian, was looking directly into his eyes at the moment of impact. Larry died instantly.

While I was screaming into the phone with 9-1-1, Darian was fighting with everything in him to pull our son from the burning wreckage. He believed that if he could just get Larry free, the paramedics might be able to save him. But Larry was crushed and completely trapped. Ten men together could not have pulled him free of that mangled metal. Darian suffered third‑degree burns fighting desperately to do so. The images of that day will stay with us for the rest of our lives.

The years since have been long and brutal, but they have also been filled with connection. I’ve met bereaved parents newly shattered and others who have walked this road for decades. Our grief is deeply personal and often unbearably lonely, yet there are threads that bind us — thoughts we’ve all had, feelings we’ve all felt, truths we all carry.

Knowing you do not walk this path alone is essential to surviving it.

I’ve learned that if you choose to keep going — and work harder than you ever imagined a human heart could work — you can survive this catastrophic apocalypse.

I have also found that although the colors will never be quite as vibrant as they once were, the sun’s rays no longer embrace as warmly as they once did, and the fireworks have forever lost a bit of their magic, there is still life after the death of your son or daughter. There is even happiness to be found again as well… in your own time…

---

For the past 18 years, this journal has been my sanctuary—prose and poetry born from the devastation of losing my firstborn son, Larry Brown.

Each piece is a step forward after many steps back—a promise to Larry that, though I will never “move on,” I will move forward, carrying his spirit and memory with me for as long as I breathe.

Here, you’ll find a raw chronicle of survival, remembrance, and the ongoing voyage to live beyond loss.

The grief we carry from the loss of our children is as unique to each of us as our kids are to the world; however, if you’ve lost a child, take my hand and know you are not alone on this path.

A Letter to the Newly Bereaved Mother
From a mom traveling this journey ahead of you.

In the rawest days of grief, even breathing feels impossible. I’ve been there and I’m sending you much love, strength, and a reminder that you are not alone. This letter is written from one grieving mother’s heart to another’s, carrying both sorrow and survival forward.

Time, Dreams and Broken Stitches

A mother’s reflection on the day her world shattered, the promise that carried her forward, and the fragile rebuilding that begins again each time grief breaks open.

Mom

There are moments that shatter a mother at the cellular level. This piece captures the instant I learned of my son Larry’s death — not through words, but in the devastation written across his father’s face. It is the closest I can come to describing a grief that exists beyond language, beyond breath, beyond what a human heart is built to bear.