Betsy Thibaut Stephenson is the author of the new book Blackbird: A Mother's Reflections on Grief, Loss, and Life After Suicide. She works in the field of public affairs, and she lives in Alexandria, Virginia.
Q: First of all, I’m so sorry for the loss of your son…
Why did you decide to write Blackbird?
A: I wrote the book I needed to read when I was heavy with the grief of losing my son. He died by suicide caused by depression, and though there are many helpful books about child loss and grief, suicide loss is often written about years after it occurs. It is a mysterious, taboo topic that requires time and space to digest.
But as a grieving mother, I wanted to know what was happening to my body and my mind in the moment. I consumed whatever I could put my hands on about grief and suicide loss. Then I wrote to untangle the questions and contradictions and shame that was sinking me. The result is Blackbird, which was written in real-time by a griever, for grievers.
The book is constructed of short passages and compact observations without extra explaining or backstory. The structure is designed to help readers put the book down and rest with the heavy topics without losing the thread of the story. It follows the arc of the first 15 months after I lost my son, within which I show how I learned to reshape my life and carry my grief in a healthy way.
Q: How was the book’s title chosen, and what does it signify for you?
A: My father was an avid guitar player and Beatles fan, and as a small child, I loved when he played “Blackbird.” He died suddenly in 2009, and we gifted his guitar to my son Charlie, who became a passionate musician in high school.
As Charlie’s skills improved, I jokingly told him that he’d make me the happiest mother in the world if he learned to play “Blackbird.” A few months later, he called us to the patio, picked up his guitar, and played the song. I was so touched that I cried. “Blackbird” became a permanent part of his musical lineup at home and at school, in our basement and on dorm and in his group house.
The best-known version of the song, which was included on The White Album, was recorded on my first birthday, June 11, 1968. Charlie was conceived on my birthday. The last weekend I saw him alive was my birthday weekend.
Q: The writer Rachel Zimmerman said of the book, “Betsy Stephenson’s raw, unflinching account of her son’s suicide and its aftermath adds to a growing body of storytelling that seeks to destigmatize depression, mental illness, and suicide. Her memoir, Blackbird, offers important insights, fueling the national conversation on how to more honestly and effectively help those who are suffering and, ultimately, find better, systemic solutions to address the current mental health crisis.” What do you think of that description?
A: I feel strongly that one of the most straightforward ways we can address the suicide epidemic in our country is to talk about suicide. It is mysterious, and within that mystery lies power – too much power. We must make it easier for a person who is struggling with suicidal thoughts to share what they are experiencing, else those thoughts can become lethal.
Q: What impact did it have on you to write the book, and what do you hope readers take away from it?
A: When I lost my son, emotion and shame and grief became so tangled in my mind that I could barely function. Putting words onto paper helped me slowly unravel the mess in my head so I could begin to heal. The more I wrote, the better I felt.
Blackbird is ultimately about healing. It is not a “how to” book, it is a “how I” book, and I try to take readers with me through the hardest steps of deep grief. It is my hope that readers will gain greater understanding of depression and grief and the deep impact of suicide.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: September is suicide prevention month, so I am currently focused on opportunities to collaborate with organizations and media to elevate and expand the conversation about suicide prevention.
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: Check on your friends!
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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