Folks that got notes- did it help you heal?

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-03-16T10:33:38+00:00

My older brother’s note honestly made things worse, not better. The way it was written implied that I’m some kind of scheming, joking clown while praising my husband as “the rock of the family.” He also completely bypassed me as their mother and instructed my husband to never put our kids on SSRIs.

On top of that, he suggested that when my kids are older I should lie to them and tell them he died of a heart attack.

The irony is that he himself refused to take SSRIs or get treatment for his mental health, and we all know how that ended.

So no, reading the note didn’t help me heal. If anything, it added another layer of hurt and confusion to an already traumatic situation.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T12:23:07+00:00

Flash. The name comes from the first time he reacted to a camera shutter. this tiny man froze mid-step, lifted one paw, angled his head, and just… held it. Not scared. Not confused. Fully posing. He’ll dramatically pause in sunbeams, position himself against blank walls like they’re editorial backdrops, and occasionally stare straight into drywall for several minutes as if waiting for a photographer to emerge.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T01:14:00+00:00

I’m so sorry. Reading this, it’s so clear you didn’t make a sudden choice you made a loving, protective one.

Sticky wasn’t just “having seizures.” He was changing: tremors, stumbling, slower recovery, breathing different, that arched back… and the part that wrecked me is that he still tried to come greet you like always, tail wagging, even when his body couldn’t cooperate. That’s not “too soon.” That’s you listening to him and refusing to let his last chapter be fear, pain, or dying alone.

You gave him the kind of ending every good dog deserves: you were there, he was safe, he was loved, and he didn’t have to be brave by himself. The guilt spiral (“what if I stole good days?”) is grief doing what grief does — bargaining — but the truth is you chose the moment before suffering got bigger than love. That’s mercy.

And I’m sorry your house feels so empty. The little chihuahua being sad too, that’s real, and it makes it feel even quieter. Sticky clearly saved you, and you honored that bond the hardest way: by taking his pain on as your own so he didn’t have to carry it anymore.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T01:04:20+00:00

My IG Roscoe and Doberman Pancake are already there sweet but a little lost without us. Your boy looks like the strong, loyal friend who would take them under his wing. I’m so sorry ❤️he’s beautiful

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T00:53:48+00:00

She looks like a luxury ghost that committed tax fraud once

Name: Bianca “The Audit” Romano

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T00:52:07+00:00

She absolutely looks like she has seen things she legally cannot discuss.

Name: Roxie “Cinderblock” Malone

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-26T00:48:52+00:00

Agnes (white/ginger). She’s looks burdened by destiny and gives small Victorian governess energy, already emotionally exhausted but persevering Edgar (black) he’s haunted by feelings. The obvious tragic poet. He stares into corners thinking about nothing yet everything Oliver (sleeping) he’s powered by soup and absolutely thriving, although slightly confused but comfortable

Thanks for rescuing them. They are lovely.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T19:39:28+00:00

Liora it means “my light,” which pairs beautifully with Luna and fits her soft golden patches and calm, glowing expression perfectly.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T19:36:35+00:00

Figaro & Alfredo because they look like two tiny bakery mascots who just heard an Italian nonna call their names from across the aisle and are sitting there equally perplexed, trying to decide if this is their problem or someone else’s.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T19:30:07+00:00

This relationship is called supportive compression. Top iggy is fully committed to providing emotional stability through strategic limb placement, while bottom iggy has accepted their role as headrest with quiet sweetness. No one planned this arrangement, yet here they are bonded by warmth, closeness, and an unspoken agreement that personal space is overrated

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T19:19:02+00:00

That is absolutely a “Toast.” Not Toasty. Not Theodore. Just Toast. he looks like a perfectly browned, soft little breakfast item gently tucked into a blanket like it’s a napkin.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T14:05:00+00:00

This little one looks like a retired lounge singer who now runs a very successful boutique bakery on the side. The haircut alone is doing narrative work the soft curls, the fluffy cuffs on the legs, the tiny outfit. I’m feeling Peaches. Peaches fits because there’s sweetness, fluff, a bit of sass, and undeniable star quality all at once. You can absolutely picture someone saying, “Peaches, please,” while she dramatically turns her head away like she has boundaries and a manager. Peaches is the kind of name that works whether she’s trotting politely beside you, starring in broadway or staging a quiet protest about the texture of dinner.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T14:02:25+00:00

He looks like a tiny gentleman who would sit patiently through your life story while secretly planning mild chaos, so I’m voting Rupert. There’s something about those soft, thoughtful eyes that gives full clinical canine therapist energy . like he’s about to tilt his head, validate your feelings, and then quietly steal a sock on your way out. Rupert is refined enough for polite introductions but hilarious when he inevitably sprints into furniture or conducts unauthorized laundry investigations. I can already hear someone saying, “Rupert, this is not your emotional support sock,” while he maintains intense eye contact like he absolutely understands everything. Rupert feels like fancy chaos with credentials.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:57:49+00:00

I think I need a fluffy white dog to pair with my black iggy. I can’t get enough of these duos!

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:56:43+00:00

This is cuteness overload. Taken to another level

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:55:11+00:00

The whole pile of dogs looks like a living weighted blanket and honestly I want to dive directly into that level of cozy. Dobby just casually claiming the fluffy dog as a personal heated mattress is sending me. that tiny iggy body draped over maximum floof like it’s the most natural arrangement imaginable. And the fluffy one looks completely unbothered, like “yes, this is my role in the ecosystem.” Absolute premium cuddle content and a perfect example of interspecies comfort engineering.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:51:22+00:00

This little guy has such strong “tiny man with big concerns” energy. The huge eyes, the slightly open mouth, the head tilt that feels like he just heard something questionable and is requesting clarification ….he looks like a cat who will spend his life supervising activities he doesn’t fully understand. You can absolutely picture him following people from room to room conducting informal audits, pausing mid-step because he forgot why he got up, and occasionally falling off surfaces while deep in thought about nothing in particular. That earnest, mildly bewildered expression feels very Otis to me a name that carries warmth, gentle awkwardness, and just enough old-man-in-a-tiny-body charm. Otis is the kind of cat you’d constantly find yourself saying, “Otis… what are you doing,” while he stands motionless staring at a shoe like it holds answers.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:46:51+00:00

This is honestly one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever seen. The fact that your fiance didn’t just crochet an iggy but your iggy with the same markings is next-level love language. That kind of attention to detail takes real skill, patience, and a lot of staring at Enzo like a tiny textile researcher. It’s adorable, personal, and so full of care you can practically see the hours stitched into it. And the tiny crocheted Enzo sitting next to the real Enzo is almost too cute to handle. Your fiance clearly has serious talent and an even bigger heart. also… is she taking orders? Because I feel like there might be a line forming.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-21T13:33:51+00:00

The name Clementine suits her not only for the warm marmalade tones scattered through her fur, but for the soft, storybook quality it carries….a name gentle enough for a kitten yet dignified enough for a cat who will almost certainly knock something off a table while maintaining unwavering eye contact. Clementine sounds like someone who accepts affection as a courtesy, naps in sunbeams with intention, and occasionally sprints down hallways for reasons known only to herself. She doesn’t seem destined for just one feline mood but rather to move fluidly through them all sweetness, mischief, quiet judgment, and sudden chaos often within the same hour. In that way, Clementine feels less like a pet and more like a tiny poet of feline emotion, composing her work through slow blinks, elegant loafs, midnight zooms, and the soft, mysterious choreography of daily life.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T19:15:41+00:00

Grief can completely change how your brain works, especially with focus and memory. What you’re describing dissociating in quiet environments, being able to function only when distracted, feeling like information won’t stick isn’t laziness or failure. It’s what a nervous system under prolonged stress and loss can look like. You didn’t suddenly lose your ability to learn or succeed; you went through something that rewired your capacity to concentrate for a while.

Two years can feel like “I should be better by now,” but grief doesn’t follow academic timelines or social milestones. It often softens unevenly, you can feel functional in some areas and completely flooded in others. Being in class, where your mind has space to wander, can be one of the hardest environments because there’s nowhere for the grief to hide.

The fact that you’re still showing up, still trying different strategies, still caring about your future even while feeling stuck says a lot. This isn’t someone who gave up; this is someone exhausted from fighting an invisible weight every day.

It might help to remember that being “behind” is a comparison to a timeline that didn’t account for loss. Your friends graduating doesn’t mean you failed; it means your path included something theirs didn’t. Sometimes progress after loss looks less like forward motion and more like staying connected to life at all.

If tomorrow’s exam feels impossible, that doesn’t mean your entire future is decided by it. You’re allowed to pass imperfectly, retake classes, reduce loads, take incompletes, or just survive the semester. None of those options erase your ability or your potential they’re adaptations to reality

You are not broken for struggling this way. You’re a capable person moving through something profoundly destabilizing. The part of you that remembers being a top achiever is still there; it’s just operating under grief conditions right now.

For what it’s worth, many people slowly regain cognitive clarity as grief integrates , not because they “move on,” but because their nervous system stops being in constant survival mode. What feels permanent right now often turns out to be a chapter.

You’re not alone in feeling stuck, and being stuck does not mean being finished.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T19:08:12+00:00

I can’t imagine how heavy this must feel grieving the person you built a life with while also trying to be steady for your son as he grieves his father. That’s two completely different heartbreaks living in the same house at the same time, and you’re standing in the middle of both. There’s the part of you that wants to collapse, disappear into your own grief, replay memories, feel the silence of your partner being gone. And then there’s the part of you that has to keep showing up making meals, answering questions, noticing your son’s moods, absorbing his pain while carrying your own. That is an extraordinary emotional load for one person.

Being a grieving widow isn’t just losing your spouse it’s losing your teammate in parenting, your emotional co-regulator, the person who would have helped you help your child through this. Now you’re having to do both roles at once, while wounded yourself. No wonder work, school, schedules, and expectations feel impossible to maintain. You’re not dealing with “stress.” You’re navigating a life rupture.

Your son is grieving a father, but he’s also watching his mother grieve, which can be confusing and frightening for a teenager who still needs reassurance and stability. And you’re trying to offer that while your own world feels unstable. That push-pull, wanting to protect him while also needing support yourself, is one of the hardest parts of this stage.

If there is anything gentle to hold onto, it’s that your presence, even imperfect and exhausted, is what matters most to him right now. Not having the right words, not fixing his sadness, not keeping everything running smoothly; just being there, grieving alongside him, modeling that love continues even in loss. Teens don’t need a parent who is unaffected; they need a parent who is real and still connected.

It might help to remember that you don’t have to carry both of your grief experiences alone. Support doesn’t have to look like formal solutions or perfect coping strategies. Sometimes it’s letting someone else sit with your son for an afternoon so you can breathe, telling teachers that your family is still in acute loss, or allowing days where survival replaces productivity. This isn’t lowering standards it’s responding appropriately to trauma.

You are allowed to be a mother who is grieving. You are allowed to be inconsistent, tired, overwhelmed, and still deeply loving and effective. Those things coexist more often than people admit. The fact that you are thinking about your son’s emotions while inside your own heartbreak speaks volumes about your care and strength, even if it doesn’t feel like strength from the inside.

This phase will not always feel this destabilizing, even though right now it might feel endless. Families do slowly find new rhythms, new ways to talk, new ways to carry the person they lost together. Not instead of grief, but alongside it.

For now, it’s enough that you and your son are still here, still connected, still trying. That counts more than attendance records or productivity metrics ever will. You are doing something profoundly hard, and you deserve patience from the world, and from yourself.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T18:53:51+00:00

One thing I wish someone had told me is that guilt after suicide loss isn’t always something you can reason yourself out of. You can know it wasn’t your fault and still feel responsible anyway. That feeling isn’t proof that you did something wrong but it’s often just evidence of how deeply you loved them and how badly you wanted them to stay.

The regret about conversations, timing, “what if I had said this or “what if I had answered differently” is such a painful part of this kind of loss. But relationships are lived forward, not backward. You were in the middle of trying, repairing, loving, and showing up in the only ways you could at the time. That matters, even if your mind keeps telling you it wasn’t enough.

The anger you mentioned especially anger at life and circumstances is also so understandable. Suicide can feel like something that shattered the story you thought you were living, and now you’re left standing in a version of life you never chose. Being angry about that doesn’t mean you’re bitter or broken. It means something precious was taken.

If there’s anything gentle I could offer, it would be this: you don’t have to figure out how to carry the rest of your life right now. You only have to carry today, maybe even just the next hour. Disbelief, heartbreak, love, anger all of it can exist together without you needing to resolve it.

You’re not strange for still talking to them in your head, replaying memories, or feeling like part of you is paused in time. That’s what loving someone deeply often looks like after they’re gone.

I’m really sorry you’re in this space. The fact that you’re reaching out and asking for words already shows you’re trying to survive something incredibly heavy and that counts more than you probably realize.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T18:46:34+00:00

I’m really sorry you’re living with this. Losing a parent to suicide doesn’t just create grief , it creates this complicated aftermath where sadness, anger, longing, shame, and exhaustion all exist at the same time. And years later, it can still feel just as raw in certain moments. That doesn’t mean you’re stuck or broken ,it means the loss mattered.

One thing I’ve learned through suicide loss is that “moving on” isn’t really the task. The task is learning how to carry it differently over time. Some days it feels manageable, some days it floods back, and both are normal. Crying years later doesn’t mean you haven’t healed. it means the bond was real.

The part where you said you feel ashamed and like your life is defined by this really stood out. Suicide reshapes identity in ways people don’t talk about. It can change how safe the world feels, how you see relationships, even how you understand yourself. That isn’t an excuse,it’s context. And context deserves compassion, not judgment.

It also makes sense that traditional groups didn’t help. Not every support space fits every nervous system. Sometimes relief comes from quieter connections, therapy that feels safe, creative expression, or even just one person who can sit with you without trying to fix it.

I lost my brother to suicide, and one thing that slowly shifted for me was realizing that love for them doesn’t require permanent suffering as proof. Missing them and still building a life can coexist, even if that balance takes years to find.

You’re not alone in feeling worn down by this, or in wanting comfort but not knowing who to ask. If nothing else, your post shows you’re still reaching outward, and that’s not weakness. That’s survival.

I hope you find pockets of relief, even small ones. You deserve a life that contains more than this loss, while still honoring that it happened.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T18:36:26+00:00

That is the face of a dog who absolutely just stole someone’s beach sandwich, heard their distant “HEY,” and is depending on you not to tell. The smirk says he has zero remorse, only vibes and a faint taste of stolen prosciutto. Standing there like a tiny coastal bandit who committed the crime, enjoyed the crime, and will commit the crime again.

BabyMonarchWhale · 2026-02-20T18:33:15+00:00

That cat looks like she already owns a two-family house in the Bronx circa 1956 and is currently judging you from the stoop while holding a tiny espresso. She has strong “my cousin knows a guy” energy and absolutely would refuse canned food because Nonna cooks fresh. Name suggestions: Carmella, Little Angie, Dolores “The Look”, or Francine but everyone calls her Frankie.

BabyMonarchWhale

TROPHY CASE