The Role of Music in Healing from Suicide Grief

A Song Begins to Play

I was sitting in seat 20C on my regular Monday morning flight from Newark to Seattle, my Bose headphones creating a quiet sanctuary at 38,000 feet. A song began that I barely knew six months earlier, one of the tracks my son John had loaded onto my MP3 player because, as he told me, I listened to “old music” that “wasn’t cool.” Now, as the first notes fill my ears, tears start before I can even name what I’m feeling. This was my grief, carried in melodies my 17-year-old son chose to share with me, played on repeat across the country and back again on Friday, every single week. Working cross country gave me a lot of time to reflect on music after I lost my son to suicide.

Music as Memory

Music touches each person differently. Some songs connect with our very soul. After losing someone to suicide, our emotions become raw and exposed, and music has a way of reaching directly into that tender space. It can give us comfort when nothing else will. It can bring tears that need to be cried. Sometimes it brings unexpected smiles and small moments of joy breaking through the heaviness.

Music has the power to transport us to a specific time or place we shared with the person we lost. A particular song might have been “our song,” or it might have been playing during a car ride, a birthday party, a quiet evening at home. When we hear it again, a wave of memories washes over us, some painful, some precious, all of them real. The grief journey after suicide loss is deeply personal, and music can be one of the companions that walks alongside us.

When a Song Speaks Your Grief

Some songs seem written specifically for the grief journey, capturing feelings we struggle to articulate ourselves. The Irish ballad group, The Beermats, perform a song called “Absent Friends” that resonates deeply with many who have lost someone. The chorus speaks to the myth that time alone heals all wounds, acknowledging what many of us know too well, that the pain of loss doesn’t simply disappear with the passage of days and months and years.

The accompanying video shows mourners at a memorial service, people looking through photographs, moments of reminiscence and longing. These are the exact circumstances in which many of us turn to music, sitting alone with old pictures, attending services, driving home from the cemetery, lying awake at night missing someone who will never walk through the door again.

This song, like many others that touch on loss, validates the reality that grief is a long journey. It doesn’t follow a neat timeline. It doesn’t resolve itself according to anyone else’s schedule. The longing for someone we’ve lost can persist even as we learn to live with their absence. Music that acknowledges this truth can feel like a companion who truly understands.

Music as Spiritual Anchor

Music can also touch the spiritual and religious parts of our hearts, offering connection not just to the person we lost, but to something larger than ourselves. For many of us navigating suicide loss, our faith becomes complicated. We may struggle with anger at God, questions about where our loved one is now, or feelings of abandonment by the divine. Music can become a bridge back to faith when words of prayer feel impossible.

Lincoln Brewster’s “Another Hallelujah” became that kind of spiritual lifeline for me. While it pays homage to the well-known Leonard Cohen song many know, Brewster’s version transforms it into something different, a praise song centered on accepting grace and hope. John had learned to play it on his guitar a few weeks before his death. When I heard it played at John’s funeral service, in that moment of unbearable pain, the song touched something deep within me.

The timing carried layers of meaning I couldn’t have anticipated. John died on Good Friday, a day in the Roman Catholic faith when we deliberately refrain from singing “Hallelujah.” During Holy Week, that word of praise is held back, saved for Easter morning when we celebrate the resurrection of Christ. The Church sits in the darkness of death, waiting for the light of resurrection. In church on Easter Sunday we usually accompany the words with trumpets blasting. In fact that is why Easter Lilies, which look like trumpets, are a common decoration at Easter mass services. They are a symbol of purity, hope, and renewal.

When we sang “Another Hallelujah” at John’s funeral just a few days after Easter, it was beyond symbolic. Here we were, a community gathered in profound grief, singing the very word our faith had asked us to withhold. But in that moment, it felt exactly right. We were acknowledging both the darkness and the hope, the death and the promise of resurrection. We were sitting in the tension between Good Friday and Easter morning, between loss and faith, between despair and the fragile belief that grace could reach even into this unbearable pain. The song, with it’s soaring guitar riffs and the beat of the drum, reminded us of the light and love that we felt in our broken hearts. There was room for hope and renewal amongst the pain.

In the months after John’s death, I found myself playing that song repeatedly, sometimes multiple times a day. When I couldn’t form my own prayers, when I was too angry or confused or devastated to speak to God directly, I could listen to “Another Hallelujah.” The song became my prayer, expressing what I couldn’t put into words. It reminded me that even in my darkest moments, grace was available. That hope, however faint, still existed. That resurrection, in whatever form it might take, remained possible.

There’s something profoundly healing about music that offers a path toward hope without dismissing the depth of pain. “Another Hallelujah” didn’t pretend that everything was okay or that my grief would simply vanish. But it invited me to believe that healing was possible, that God’s grace could reach even into the darkest corners of my loss, that I could find my way back to praise even when it felt impossible.

Whether your faith tradition includes hymns, Irish ballads, gospel music, contemporary Christian worship, chanting, or other sacred sounds, these musical prayers can carry you when your own voice fails. They remind you that others have walked through darkness before you. They connect you to a community of faith that holds space for both suffering and hope. They offer words of grace when you need them most. Organizations like the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention recognize the importance of finding meaning and support in various forms during the healing process.

Music as Emotional Container

Composers and songwriters work to make connections through their art. They tap into universal human experiences: love, loss, longing, hope. For those of us surviving suicide loss, music becomes something more than entertainment. It becomes a third rail of emotions, conducting feelings that are often too big, too complicated, too overwhelming to express in words alone.

During those flights back and forth across the country, John’s music gave me permission to feel everything. With my noise-cancelling headphones blocking out the world, I could sit with the music and let my emotions flow. All the feelings that come with losing someone to suicide would resonate through my soul during those hours in the air: guilt, anger, confusion, love, blame, loss, and those endless questions about why it happened. The music didn’t answer those questions, but it held space for them. It let me ask them without needing a response.

Understanding that suicide is not about a desire to die but about ending unbearable pain helped me process my grief. Music became a safe way to explore all the complex emotions that come with that understanding.

A Permanent Connection

Before John’s death, those Monday and Friday flights were an opportunity to understand my teenage son better, to learn about the bands and artists he loved, to glimpse his world through sound. After his death, those same flights became bittersweet journeys through grief. The music he chose became one of our most permanent connections.

What started as his gentle teasing about my uncool musical taste became an unexpected gift. He had created a bridge between us that death couldn’t break. Every song was evidence that he had thought of me, that he wanted to share something meaningful with me, that he cared enough to take the time to update my MP3 player with his favorites.

I cried on most of those flights. The privacy of my headphones and the anonymity of air travel created a safe space to grieve. Music gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping away. It became part of remembering the dash, all those moments between birth and death that made John who he was.

Your Music, Your Healing

Music that heals can take any form. It might be opera or jazz. It might be the lullabies you sang to tuck them into bed at night. It might be punk rock or country, classical or hip-hop, sacred music or secular songs that somehow feel holy. The genre doesn’t matter. What matters is the emotion and the connection.

If the person you lost loved certain songs or artists, listening to their music can feel like spending time with them. If you shared musical experiences together, concerts, car singalongs, teaching them an instrument, returning to that music can be both painful and profound.

Some days, music will make you cry. Let it. Some days, it will make you smile at a memory. Hold onto that. Some days, you might need silence instead. That’s okay too. There’s no right way to use music in your grief journey.

Embracing Music on Your Journey

I encourage you to actively embrace music as part of your healing. Choose those songs that you need on your particular journey. Maybe you need songs of remembrance that keep your loved one’s memory alive and vivid. Maybe you need songs of joy that remind you it’s okay to laugh again, to feel moments of lightness even in the midst of grief. Maybe you need songs just because you need the emotional release of a good cry, and the right melody gives you permission to let those tears flow.

Your relationship with music in grief can take many forms. It can be a shared experience with friends and family, gathering together to listen to songs your loved one enjoyed, creating a playlist for a memorial service, or simply sitting with someone who understands while a meaningful song plays. These shared musical moments can create connection when words fail, reminding you that you’re not alone in your pain. Many survivors find support through organizations like the Alliance of Hope for Suicide Loss Survivors, which provides a community of people who understand.

Or music can be a solitary moment of reflection, headphones on, world blocked out, just you and the song and your memories. These private encounters with music can provide the space you need to feel deeply without worrying about others watching or judging. They can be sacred moments of communion with your grief, with your loved one’s memory, with your own evolving heart.

You might create different playlists for different needs. One for when you want to feel close to the person you lost. Another for when you need strength to get through a difficult day. Another for when you’re ready to remember the joy and not just the pain. Let your musical choices evolve as your grief evolves. What you need to hear today might be different from what you need next month or next year.

Hope and healing can be found in music. Not because music makes the pain disappear, but because it accompanies you through the pain. It bears witness to your loss. It validates your emotions. It reminds you that others have survived devastating losses and found their way forward. It connects you to something beautiful even when the world feels broken.

Music can be a great companion on your journey through suicide loss. It travels with you, available whenever you need it. It doesn’t judge your tears or question your timeline. It simply exists, ready to meet you wherever you are, in your darkest moments and in your gradual steps toward light.

Reflective Questions: Music and Your Healing Journey

As you consider the role of music in your own healing process, take some time to reflect on these questions. There are no right or wrong answers, these are simply prompts to help you explore your relationship with music as you navigate grief.

What songs or genres of music have had the most impact on your grief journey? Consider which songs bring you comfort, which ones make you cry, and which ones help you feel connected to your loved one. Have certain types of music surprised you by becoming important during this time?

How do you currently use music in your healing process? Do you listen actively, seeking out specific songs when you need them? Does music play in the background of your daily life? Do you avoid certain songs or artists? Understanding your current patterns can help you be more intentional about using music as a healing tool.

Have you shared songs or musical experiences with others who are grieving? Sometimes creating a playlist together, attending a concert in memory of your loved one, or simply listening to music with someone who understands can deepen both the musical experience and your connection with that person.

Have you discussed the impact of music with your grief counselor or support group? If you’re working with a therapist or attending a suicide loss support group, bringing up how music affects your grief can open valuable conversations. Your counselor might have suggestions for using music therapeutically, or others in your support group might share songs that have helped them.

What role did music play in your loved one’s life, and how does that influence what you listen to now? Did they have favorite songs, bands, or musical traditions? Does listening to their music bring you closer to them, or is it too painful right now? There’s no timeline for when you’ll be ready to engage with their musical preferences, honor wherever you are in that process.

A Tool for Healing

Music can be a tool you return to again and again as you navigate life after suicide loss. You might create playlists for different moods, songs that let you cry, songs that bring comfort, songs that help you feel close to the person you lost. You might seek out new music that speaks to your experience or cling to familiar melodies that feel like home.

The beauty of music is that it meets you where you are. It doesn’t demand anything from you. It simply exists, ready when you need it. Whether you find support through local resources, online communities, or national organizations, music can complement all forms of healing support.

What Endures

You can’t forget a great song. The melody stays with you, the lyrics echo in your heart, the emotion it carries remains accessible even years later. In the same way, you won’t forget the person you lost to suicide. They are woven into your life, your history, your heart.

The intensely raw emotions right after their death will soften with time. The grief doesn’t disappear, but it changes, becomes something you learn to carry rather than something that carries you away. Through all of that change, music remains, a connection to them that you can access whenever you need it, a bridge between who they were and who you’re becoming in their absence.

Music connects with your soul. Music can be deeply healing. Let it be part of your journey through grief, a companion that understands without judging, a reminder that love persists even when the person we love is gone.

Other Posts You May Also Like

• Another Hallelujah on Good Friday – A deeper exploration of how this specific song became a spiritual anchor during the author’s grief journey, connecting faith, loss, and the promise of resurrection.
• Healing is a Journey, Not a Destination – Understanding that grief doesn’t have an endpoint helps contextualize how tools like music continue to serve us throughout our healing process, not just in the early days.
• After a Suicide Loss, Remembering The Dash – Music can be a powerful way to honor the life lived between birth and death, the “dash” that represents all the moments, memories, and connections we shared with our loved one.
• 5,000 Days vs. 6,244 Days: Long Term Healing After a Suicide Loss – This post provides perspective on long-term grief and healing, showing how the tools we use (like music) continue to matter years after our loss.
• Why? The Glass Full of Water – Understanding why suicide happens can help us process our grief more fully, and music often provides a space where we can sit with difficult questions without needing immediate answers.