Why I wrote God, You’re Fired —And Who This Book Is For
By Victoria Myers
After losing my son, there came a time when I realized I wouldn’t die from my grief, and that others in my family needed me, so after much time and anguish, I resolved to heal.
I grasped for anything I thought might help—grief groups, prayer, reading books on loss, and journaling. I never set out to write a book—I set out to survive the worst tragedy of my life.
Anger, confusion, shock, turmoil, questions—these are what fueled my resolve at first.
But what devastated me most—beyond the loss itself—was how quickly my son’s life felt reduced to the way it ended.
I felt like my son died misunderstood. And that upset me.
He lived beautifully.
He loved deeply.
He encouraged others.
He lived big.
And yet, I felt his life was reduced to that one moment of confusion and pain.
A whole life reduced to one moment. It seemed unfair.
What Grief Taught Me About the Pain We Walk Past Every Day
As I began to look around and learn more about suicide loss, I saw how common this kind of pain was, yet how quiet it remained.
I was starting to see through the eyes of a suicide griever, and I became painfully aware of the stigma, insinuation, blame, guilt, confusion, and the hush that smoldered around this kind of loss. Because of this, suicide grief is often isolating in ways other grief is not.
I was so shocked that this level of pain existed and that people actually survived it.
It made me wonder how many people I had unknowingly passed by in my life who were carrying this kind of pain or worse. I wondered how often I had been oblivious to individuals with such gaping holes in their hearts.
I imagine there is so much pain we pass by in the grocery store every day, so much heartache we shuffle past at the mall, so much fear that may be sitting across from us at the coffee shop.
Not that we should be in constant concern, but it is good to be aware of the hurt that may be very nearby.
Grief didn’t just break my heart; it widened it. It taught me empathy I didn’t know I lacked.
I realized this wasn’t just my reality but one shared by so many. Slowly, something else became clear:
I wasn’t alone.
Many had walked this road before me.
Many survived.
Some even went on to lead meaningful, full lives.
But how?
Why didn’t anyone talk about this? Why didn’t we talk about grief? Why didn’t we talk about suicide?
The Breaking Point: When My Faith was Waylaid
Then there came a point where my questions no longer remained quietly tucked away behind a “good Christian bow.” Anger and bitterness drew the burning-hot questions to the surface, and they were flung in every direction.
God, You’re Fired was the honest cry of my heart. An honest cry that couldn’t make sense of this kind of pain. The honest place I found myself in. And I believe it’s what so many of us feel, but rarely dare to say out loud.
I couldn’t reconcile this kind of pain with a God that had always professed love for me. But here I was realizing how little space there seemed to be for my questions, my anger, and my honest grief. Here I was with true suffering that seemed no one wanted to touch, look at, or even talk about.
I began to wonder if there was really space in people, in the church, and with God for my grief, my anger, and my questions.
And what I came to discover was that while people often struggled to make space for this kind of grief, God never did. There was room with Him for my anger, my questions, my pain and my doubts.
That doesn’t mean I liked all the answers or that I even received all of them, but it does mean I came to fully trust His plan, even in the worst tragedy of my life. Even greater, I came to fully see the depth of his love—not only for me, but especially for my son.
So the deeper questions and anger didn’t destroy my faith. Instead, they deepened the reason for my hope.
How Grief Reshaped the Way I Saw a Life
As I wrestled with these questions, I found myself thinking about how differently God seems to evaluate a life compared to how we often do.
The thief on the cross had likely lived a long, ugly, self-centered, hell bent life, and yet at the end, in that moment of clarity, he saw what truly mattered—and by God’s grace, he was saved. That one moment outweighed everything that came before.
But when I looked at my son’s life, I saw the opposite. A life filled with love, generosity, and encouragement—followed by one moment of confusion and pain. And that moment became the lens through which many would view his entire life.
A lifetime of love overshadowed by a desperate moment of confusion and undaunting pain.
That realization exposed how quick we are to judge, and how slow we are to hold compassion. I knew I had been guilty of that same quick judgment before.
Why this became a Book
On my grief journey, I searched desperately for a book that spoke honestly about suicide loss and faith from someone who had lived experience. I wanted something that acknowledged the spiritual confusion, all of the questions, and, of course, that deep, unbelievable pain.
While I found pieces of help along the way—insight here, comfort there—I struggled to find a resource that held all of it together in one place. Nothing quite felt complete or easily accessible in those early days.
Some books felt overly technical, others leaned heavily on Christian clichés, and many seemed to speak at me rather than beside me.
Eventually, I realized: the very book I was looking for was the one God was asking me to write.
I wanted this book to be like a friend sitting beside those who are grieving. To remind them they aren’t alone, that they actually can find healing, that all hope isn’t lost, and that God hasn’t abandoned them.
Who is this book for?
My book is written for Christians who have lost a loved one to suicide and may be struggling to make sense of their faith in the middle of that undaunting pain.
It is also written for the family, friends, and faith communities who want to walk beside them with compassion and understanding.
And while this book is rooted in Christian faith, it would likely be a benefit for anyone who has lost a loved one to suicide.
What I Hope You’ll Walk Away With
If this book does anything, I hope it helps someone feel less alone.
I hope it creates space for honest grief, honest questions, and honest faith.
Above all, even if healing comes slowly, I hope readers sense God’s nearness and come to see the depth of his love not only for them but for their lost loved one.
“I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have the power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” Ephesians 3:18-19
If you’d like to learn more about the book that grew out of this journey, you can find it here.