I’ve written, erased, and rewritten this post so many times in the last four months.
My mom died by suicide on November 23, 2024. She went missing around 2:30am. She took her life on International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day.
The day burns so vividly in my memory. The details are unnecessary to share, but it was one of the longest and worst days of my life.
I was in Arizona for the weekend. The weather forecast was fairly chilly in Colorado, and I’m not one to really enjoy winter running. There wasn’t any snow, but it was just plain frigid. I had waffled a bit between flying back to California to visit my mom and get in some training miles, or to go to Arizona and visit some friends, head to Saguaro National Park, and get in my runs. I can’t remember exactly which week it was. I think it was the second to last simulation, which meant that the weekend mileage was likely somewhere around 10 miles Saturday and 23 on Sunday. I flew in to Phoenix on Friday morning, grabbed a rental car, and headed to Tempe Town Lake to get in a run. Headed to WeWork to shower and start my work day. It was such an ordinary, boring day at work. Just working on flowcharts, emails, Slack chats. Nothing remarkable at all. That evening I caught up with a friend over dinner, and then drove to Sahuarita (near Tucson) to settle in for the evening at another friend’s house. I hung out with her and her daughter for a few hours before having to excuse myself to prepare for the following morning. I think I may have gone to bed around 11pm and then woke up at 3:45am to get ready.
I was out the door, drove to Sahuarita Lake. It was a 1 mile loop, which is perfect for long runs. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just has to get the job done right. I prepped my hydration pack in the back of my rental car, trying not to spill anything. Packed all my run snacks. Had my interval timer. My new Apple Watch Ultra was fully charged. This was going to be my first test long run with them, since my watch battery gave out at Palmer Lake. It was still really dark out, so I donned a headlamp. Had plenty of layers to shed if I had to, since my car was along the loop.
I set out for my first lap. Super crisp morning. Very quiet. No one else on the path. Just a few maintenance cars coming in and out of the clubhouse. I made it 1.27 miles when I got a frantic call from my dad. According to this screenshot, it was 5:13am where I was in Arizona, which meant it was 4:13am in California. I saw his name on caller ID and knew that it had to be really bad.
He called me in a panic, that she was missing and he couldn’t find her anywhere. He sounded terrified. Said that the day before she was talking about the aqueduct behind the house, and how she thought the young girl who drowned herself a few weeks prior must be at peace. My heart sunk, knowing that she was in such a vulnerable place and had been clearly contemplating doing the same. I called 911 from Sahuarita, which temporarily confused dispatch because I also have a 323 (Los Angeles) phone number, and I was calling about an emergency in Hesperia (760 number). I explained the situation, and continued playing a game of telephone between my dad, my husband, and the sheriff. My husband was actually at the airport on his way to a concert when I called him in a panic. I needed to get from Sahuarita to Phoenix as soon as possible without getting a ticket. 130 miles. One hour 50 minutes to spiral, cry, consult. As I hit the road, my husband bought my plane ticket and coordinated his flight to arrive around the same time. I coordinated some geotargeted social media ads to drum up attention and get some leads. Once we both landed at the airport, we’d then drive up together and begin looking for her. It was like the time she went missing, except this time I had another set of eyes on the road while I could keep my eyes peeled around town. We stopped at her stomping grounds…the gym, Costco, Walmart. Drove out until the end of Mariposa, Topaz, and any other road that ran parallel to the aqueduct. At about 2:30pm, my friend (who had been coordinating the social media and press outreach) had called to tell me that the police scanner revealed that a body had been pulled from the aqueduct around noon. I still held hope that she would be found. There was another young woman who was missing at around the same time. I didn’t wish it was her, but I just wished it wasn’t my mom. We headed home to console my dad. He had been following the news all day and had just seen that someone was pulled from the water. I sat him down and reminded him that there has been no official news yet, and that someone else was also missing.
Meanwhile, a family friend had been texting me to see if there was anything she could do to help. I figured once the sun went down, she and I could divvy up the high desert. My husband and I would check the homeless shelters in the area, and she could check religious buildings like churches. Maybe she had gotten lost and confused and ended up somewhere safe. If she had made it to the hospital, they would’ve already called the police and we would’ve been reunited.
I was just getting ready to leave the house when the coroner knocked on the door. She tried to brief me very gently before having me ID the person pulled from the water.
Later that evening, I was so exhausted. Still in my running clothes. Couldn’t even stand the thought of showering, eating, anything. The three of us – me, my husband, and my dad – were completely numb and in shock. Everything just happened so fast. Suddenly food baskets, gift boxes, people coming and going. My closest friends knew how to show up without being asked. They were equally devastated. My mom was well loved in the community and among my friends. In the days following, there were a number of Buddhist ceremonies that were held. One of them included walking to the site (the aqueduct) where she most likely entered the water. It was cold and windy. You have to hike a short trail to get to the water. The aqueduct itself is about 30 feet deep, and the water moves incredibly fast. My imagination runs away from me, but I try my best not to follow.
I cashed out most of my time off. I had banked so much of it in case there was a mom emergency. Here was the ultimate one, an untimely one, and tragic one. I planned the memorial service, which was so very difficult because I had no idea about any customs and rites of her religion. My dad was not in a position to make a lot of decisions, that I felt like this was the one last thing I could do for her. I also insisted at being a witness to her cremation. She saw me come into the world, so it was only fair to her that I saw her on her way out.
Today, we come together to honor the life of Supranee, a gardener whose heart belonged to the warmth of spring and the vibrancy of summer. Supranee lived in harmony with the seasons she loved most, finding joy in the renewal of life and the abundance of growth.
In spring, she saw the promise of new beginnings—the first blossoms, the gentle green of fresh leaves, the song of life returning to the world. In summer, she reveled in the fullness of nature, cherishing the long days of sunshine and the flourishing beauty of her garden. These seasons mirrored her spirit: bright, nurturing, and full of vitality.
Supranee’s journey was not without challenges. She survived being orphaned and having to leave primary school to work at a young age. She endured homelessness and faced the uncertainty of building a new life in a foreign land. When she came to America, she taught herself English to create opportunities, proving her resilience and determination. She became a restaurateur, running a food truck that fed laborers across Los Angeles. Her food was more than sustenance—it was an offering of care and protection for her customers, whom she loved fiercely. Supranee also faced the complexities of living with bipolar 1 disorder, navigating its highs and lows with courage. Her strength was extraordinary, and her story a testament to perseverance and grace.
Though Supranee’s presence has moved on, her essence remains in every flower that blooms, every warm breeze that carries the scent of summer, and every moment of growth in our lives. She taught us that life, like the seasons, is a series of moments to be cherished.
Let us honor her by keeping her love of spring and summer alive in our hearts—by finding joy in renewal, appreciating the beauty of growth, and sharing warmth and kindness with those around us. Supranee’s legacy is one of light, life, and love, forever flourishing like the seasons she cherished most.
Amara in Training 