From Grief to Growth: Choosing a Different Legacy

I’ve led in some of the most complex and high-pressure situations imaginable — under the ocean, under scrutiny, and under extreme responsibility.

People have often called me resilient, and for a long time, I believed that too. But my resilience wasn’t built on stability or strength — it was built on comparison. I would look back on the worst thing I’d endured and say, “This isn’t as bad as that.”

That “worst thing” happened when I was 26. My mother, just 42, took her own life.

She had lived a life marked by pain, but to my brother and me, she had always been there — steady, present, loving. I had seen her only weeks before at my brother’s wedding, holding my four-month-old daughter. But I didn’t really engage with her. I hadn’t in years. When my parents began divorce proceedings, I had taken my father's side. Looking back, I realise now how much that must have hurt her.

When my then-wife told me the news — standing on a naval submarine base — I didn’t cry. I didn’t stop. I went to work the next day. I convinced myself I was fine. I buried it.

It wasn’t until her funeral — held on my birthday — that something cracked open. I saw how many people she had impacted. I heard stories I had never known. And I started to question the version of events I had held onto. I started to wonder whether I had chosen the wrong side. That regret stayed with me.

Years later, I found myself in the same place. I was going through a divorce. My children — whom I love more than anything — weren’t speaking to me. I was leading at the highest level, carrying responsibility I couldn’t afford to drop. The grief of separation, the pressure of leadership, and the absence of my children became overwhelming. I couldn’t make space. I couldn’t breathe. I reached the point where I considered ending it.

What stopped me wasn’t courage or clarity. It was memory.

I remembered how I felt when I lost my mother — the regret, the helplessness, the shame of not having seen it coming. The sadness that she would never see the people my brother and I had become. The ache that my children would never know her warmth, her humour, or her fierce love.

Even now, more than two decades later, those feelings haven’t faded. They’re still part of me. And that’s what kept me alive: the refusal to leave my children with the same legacy of unanswered questions and unspoken love.

It’s the only gift I can take from her decision — and I wish more than anything that she hadn’t made it. I wish I had seen her more clearly. I wish I had done more.

But I can still choose differently.

And I have

Ryan Ramsey - Bio

Mind the Gap.

Welcome to Mind the Gap, a heartfelt collection of real-life stories from loved ones who have lost men to suicide. Here, you'll find powerful narratives that honor the memory of those who are no longer with us.

These stories are shared to raise awareness, foster understanding, and remind us all of the importance of mental health support. Join us in remembering, reflecting, and working together to prevent further loss. Each story is a testament to the lives that mattered and a call to action for us all.

Please leave your comments of support below and if you want to share your own story then please email it, along with photographs to talk@toughtotalk.com