Six days

This is not a post I wanted to write. It’s not that the topic is unworthy. It’s one of the most important topics I can imagine. But I knew it was going to hurt like hell to get the words out of my head. So I procrastinated. And I avoided.

This is hard. But I can’t put it off any longer.

Last month, six days apart, two people I know chose to take their own lives.

My heart aches. I am not alone. The only way to break the stigma and help those we care about is to talk about this. So, I’m doing my part—what are you doing?

This is hard. But we can’t put it off any longer.

One was an acquaintance, someone shining and vibrant, intelligent and interesting. Someone with so much promise for a life yet to come that you just knew great things were on their horizon. The few times our paths crossed, we had fascinating conversations. But we really only scratched the surface. We didn’t know one another very well. If you had asked them—Who will mourn if you die?—I have no doubt that my name wouldn’t have made their list. But they would have been wrong. Just as they would have been wrong about countless others who are now grieving and raw—people who are wondering if there was anything they could have done to prevent such a tragedy from unfolding.

I’m sure that people are wondering the exact same thing about the other person too. But Tom was much more than my acquaintance. He might have even included my name on his list of mourners. But, if he had, I doubt he would have guessed how much of an impact his death would have on me.

I am heartbroken.

How can he be gone?

He was my first love. In the years following our break-up, we became friends. And then, as it so often does, life happened and the time that passed between one conversation and the next stretched from months to years to decades. But I always knew that if I needed him, all I had to do was reach out and he would be there. I assumed he knew that if he needed me, all he had to do was ask.

I wish he’d asked.

I wish I’d made sure he knew he could ask.

We dated for three years as we neared the end of our teens and approached our twenties. We learned and grew together, celebrating the perks and navigating the pitfalls of a serious relationship. Being in love for the first time is all encompassing and glorious one moment and destructive and heartbreaking the next. But loving someone means creating a bond that often remains even after your relationship is over. Or at least, that was my experience with Tom.

When I picture him now, it’s always with laughter shining in his beautiful, dark eyes. God, I can still hear his laugh…

Like most teens, he could be cocky, but it was never in an entitled, conceited kind of way. There was always a humorous element to it—he loved to make people laugh. And when I was with Tom, I laughed a lot.

I also played pool. In fact, because of Tom and two of his friends, I didn’t just learn to play the game, I learned how to run a table. Even now, when I hold a pool cue in my hands, I think of them—of the first time I beat each of them. His friends were horrified that they’d been beaten by a girl. But not Tom. He laughed then racked the balls so I could take my place as the rightful winner and break for the next round.

Tom was generous. He was always willing to help those around him. And he wasn’t afraid of working hard. Even in high school he worked part time and took care of a variety of household chores so that his single mom wouldn’t have to do everything herself.

He had a huge extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, and a fierce grandmother who helped me hone my skills in chongka’, a Guamanian shell game that I still keep in the drawer of my coffee table. He was patient with his little brother who often tagged along with us and with his young cousin who was always interrupting him when he was doing teenage things. I don’t ever remember him telling either of them to go away.

How can he be gone?

How can either of them be gone?

For years now, whenever I returned to San Diego for a visit, I thought about calling Tom to meet for a cup of coffee or a drink. But there was always a reason it didn’t happen, and I told myself that we could catch up next time.

I waited too long.

But it wasn’t too late for me to reach out to his mom. When we spoke, she called me “honey” and we dropped into conversation as if thirty years hadn’t passed and the person who had first brought us together wasn’t gone. The next time I’m in San Diego, I will go see her so that we can reminisce about her beautiful son who left the earth too soon.

If you are struggling, please believe me when I tell you that—even if it doesn’t feel like it—there are a lot of people who want you to be ok.

I want you to be ok. Please reach out for the help you need.

I get that when you’re in pain, it’s not easy to ask for help. But do it anyway. These past few weeks, I’ve seen the alternative and the pain for those left behind is horrific. My psychologist best friend told me that a grad school advisor always said that suicide passes your pain on to everyone you leave behind.

This is not the kind of wound that people recover from.

If you are thinking about harming or killing yourself, I want you to call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or visit their website. Many countries have their own lifelines. If you can’t find one, let me know where you’re located—I’ll do my best to find a local resource that can help.

If you suspect that someone you care about is struggling with depression, is suicidal, or is self-harming, ask them. I know this is not an easy conversation. I know you are worried that you might say the wrong thing or make things worse. But I guarantee that you don’t want to wish you’d done something differently after they are gone. Check out the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline’s website for information and resources on how you can help someone you love who is struggling right now.

We cannot ignore suicide, pretending that it’s something that only happens in other people’s families. We have to talk about it. We have to shatter the stigma and bring this discussion into the light. Please do whatever you can to help.

This is hard. But we can’t put it off any longer.

In honor of Tommy –

May you always shine so that others find their way back to the light.

Today’s photos are from La Jolla Shores. As teens, this is where we spent our days playing catch, body surfing, and laughing around a bonfire, making it home just in time to meet our curfews.