For those who have suffered the loss of a child.

My personal story exploring the dynamics of mental illness, suicide, hope and recovery. By Dina Mulombo

On my son’s 21st birthday I picked out his coffin. It was copper colored and it was not extravagant but it was better than a white pine box. Earlier that day I was tasked with having to see his dead body on a metal slab and the unthinkable prospect of kissing his bruised face goodbye for the last time.

This is a narrative of a mother and her child, and the transcendent quality of their relationship. But mostly, it is the story of a woman struggling with a new truth that alters her very existence.

My story is partly told through a series of journal entries. It is prefaced with my own interpretation of loss, grief, recovery and the objective behind the book itself. This is a portrayal of the human condition in its deepest abyss. It is also a story of personal insight, hope, and the fervent conviction that life exists beyond the parameters of mortality.

The final journal entry exemplifies the gradation from grieving, healing and finally recovery. Recovery is signified by the capacity to hear and recognize the song of the nightingale. As the nightingale represents new birth and infinite growth.

The story generalizers across age, gender, nationality and social status. For losing a child, a loved one, or knowing an individual who has lost a child is relatable to all on some level.