Sept. 10 is World Suicide Prevention Day. It’s a significant day for me.
Long-time readers will not be surprised by that fact. I shared my story about suicide on here 13 years ago. Five years ago, I appeared on my late friend Tiffany’s show to talk about childhood abuse and suicide prevention.
I make it a point to share stories and mentions about suicide prevention efforts every year. It’s part of what I do here.
As the day approached, a memory that had been nagging at me resurfaced. The memory started last month when we were in Washington, D.C., in August. Several years ago, when I was working as a trainer, we had scheduled back-to-back weeks of training classes in Washington. Instead of flying home to the West Coast and back, I stayed for the weekend. On Sunday, which happened to be Father’s Day, I took the Metro into the District to attend a Nationals game, and afterwards, I walked over to the National Mall for some sightseeing and to take some photos. As it was Father’s Day, there had been some commemoration at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall earlier in the day. When I walked up to it, I saw a large number of cards, notes, photos, and other items left by the children of the men whose names are enshrined there.
Reading them was overwhelming. I’m sure they would be overwhelming for anyone, but there was something especially poignant to it for me. My middle name is James. It was given to me because when I was born, my uncle Jimmy was in Vietnam. He was not a father during this time, but he survived, came home, and became a father a few years later. As I read the notes from children who grew up without their father, some of whom were born after they had left for the war and never met their father, I couldn’t help but think of my cousins, who would never have existed if my uncle had not come home from the war.
I had to find a bench and sit, crying for a solid 20 minutes. Mourning for all the people whose sadness I was reading, but also for what might have happened and how much our family would have missed. That memory was still fresh in my brain when the calendar turned to September and I started thinking about World Suicide Prevention Day. War is something that creates so much sadness and loss. Kids who grow up without parents lost to a war, spouses who lose a partner at a young age, men who never get to become fathers, parents who never get to be grandparents, and so many who lose an important piece of their lives, be it a family member or a friend.
Read one note from someone who lost their parent in a war when they were young. Consider what my family would have been without my uncle’s return. What would be missing? My aunt. My cousins, their spouses, and kids.
Now multiply that by 720,000 per year lost to suicide.
It’s heartbreaking to me. It’s overwhelming to consider what’s missing because we haven’t figured out a way to help those who need it the most. The loss is incalculable. I have no words to describe it. I can personalize it because I was someone at risk. I know what would be missing if I had lost that battle. I’d be missing from everything that has happened in the 30 years since. I don’t like to think about that. I can’t imagine a world where I never met my wife or many of the incredibly special people I’ve come to know over the years. I’m fortunate that it isn’t the real world, but I’m also aware of how easily it could have been. I was able to get help. I found support when needed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep me connected to life and other people.
Please, learn about suicide prevention. Ensure that you and everyone you care about are aware of the 988 number and other local resources available to you. Learn about how you can “Change the Narrative” this year at the WSPD link above.
Most of all, don’t turn away from the topic. Someone you know may be struggling as you read this. Find a way to connect with them and let them know they are not alone.
None of us is alone in this. As I wrote in that story, 13 years back:
Of course, now I can see that I was never alone. Millions of people survive childhood abuse all over the world. Millions deal with depression and other mental illnesses as well. I believed myself to be a freak when, in fact, I was just one of many who were struggling and dealing with these things every day. Now I can see that I was healing all the time. Oh, it wasn’t always pretty, and it held plenty of painful moments for me, but I was changing because life is all about change.
The World Health Organization recently estimated that as many as a billion people are dealing with mental health issues. None of us is alone in this. We are a billion strong if we could only see each other.