Who will walk your daughters down the aisle?

To be honest, I am not sure abut sharing this post as I don’t want to give away any secrets but the realty is that this is as much for me as it is for you and this is a pretty critical part of the entire day. When you call the Suicide Prevention Hotline, you are asked a question; are you military or non-military? This is an important question as it determines how much of the rest of the conversation will go. So keep that in mind, its gonna come up in a few minutes.

 I drove to a commuter lot, about 20 some miles outside of Washington DC. It was a Monday, the day before the Fourth of July, a holiday week, so the lot was pretty empty and I knew that I would have some privacy. I parked the car at the edge of the lot, near some tall bushes. As I sat in the car and played with the gun, I was struggling to find the courage to pull the trigger. I loaded the magazines and was ready to get this done. I kept holding the loaded gun to my temple with my finger on the trigger, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I reminded myself how much better off everyone would be and it was time to do this.

The plan was to call 911, tell them where they can find me and then get out of my car, step into the bushed behind me and pull the trigger. No mess and the car could be used or sold. How thoughtful of me. Anyway, it must’ve been a half hour and I was oddly stoic about this. I wasn’t emotional, I was trying to accomplish something. I was strangely removed from what I was there to do.

It was almost noon and I was getting irritated with myself. It was too late to go back on this and I needed to get this done. I know, right about you are thinking, “What the fuck? Just stop and go home”. Well, with a clear thinking person you would be spot on. I did a Google search on how to find the courage to blow my head off, hoping that maybe Wikipedia might have some sage advice for me. I might as well has searched for “how fucking stupid am I?”

The first item that appeared was the number for the Suicide Prevention Hotline. Which, in case you are wondering, is 1-800-273-8255. I stared at the number for several minutes and began to question whether or not I really wanted to do this. For some odd reason, I was quickly snapped back into reality and the absurdity of the situation hit me. This is so not me and clearly, something is very wrong for me to be in this situation. I figured, what the hell. Let’s see what they have to say. I dialed the number, 1-800 27…Oh, I already mentioned that, didn’t I? When you call the hotline, before you speak to someone, they ask you if you are a vet or not. Clearly, I was not on my game that day and the neurons were not doing their thing so pressed 1 or 2 or something to say that I was a vet. Just to be clear, I am not a vet. But did you know that every 65 minutes, a vet kills themselves? That’s 22 a day. How fucked up is that? Clearly, we have a problem that the hotline is all too well aware of.

Anyway, I was quickly put through to someone and a friendly voice asked me my name and rank. I told them that I was sorry, that I made a mistake and I hung up. Well, that doesn’t really end the conversation. Within seconds, I received a call from a number that I did not recognize. It was the Hotline telling that they received a call from this number. This time, I paused. The woman on the other end asked me what was going on. With a shaky voice, I told her my name and that I was having a rough day. But before I said anything else, I asked her if she was tracing the call or calling the police. She said that she wasn’t and that this was all between us.

 I don’t remember her name so I am going to call her Theresa. She had a very deep, soft voice. I imagined her to be a middle aged woman with blond curly hair and green eyes that hid a lot of grief. I don’t think that you can have a job where you spend your day trying to talk people off a ledge without carrying a lot of sadness. Theresa asked me what a ‘rough day’ meant and I told her that I was sitting with a gun in my hands, trying to talk myself into pulling the trigger.

At this point, I am starting to come to my senses more and more and realizing just how bad things are. Not so much about the situation, but the fact that I am wanting to kill myself and abandon my family. She started asking about the gun and where I was at. I told her the gun was on my lap but that no one is around so no one else can get hurt. I quickly become agitated by her asking about the gun, as if I was not allowed to have it. I snapped that I haven’t broken any laws. She quickly pivoted the conversation to ask about my family and if I was married or had any kids. She asked lots of questions about them and how they would be if I wasn’t around. I told her how much better off they would be if I wasn’t in their lives.

We talked for probably 20 minutes and then she asked me a question that stopped me cold; who would walk my daughters down the aisle someday. I still get choked up when I think about that. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the car. She reminded me that I had earned that right to walk them down the aisle when they get married and that based on everything that I had told her, that they would certainly disagree with my assessment that they would be better off without me.

 At that moment, I knew that I didn’t want to die and that I needed to go home. Theresa asked if there was someone that I could call to come get the gun. She wanted the number of someone that we could call together to make sure that I called someone. We made a deal that I would contact my pastor and give him the gun. But she would call me back within 20 minutes which we agreed would give me enough time to go to him to give him the gun.

 I got off the phone and I texted my wife to come see me where I was parked. She asked why and I simply said that I needed to see her. I kept thinking about what Theresa said, that it was my job to walk my girls down the aisle someday. That really stuck with me. For all of the struggles that I may experience, it was my right as their dad to be part of their special day and to be there for them.

I was beginning to think a little more clearly and about getting a hold of Larry, my pastor. I didn’t know Larry very well but I figured that as a pastor, he probably wouldn’t mind helping me out in this situation.

An unknown number called me within moments of hanging up with Theresa. A gruff, deep, booming voice came up and asked for Chris. Sergeant Thomas of the police department introduced himself and asked me how I was doing. Again, he asked for my rank and what branch I has been part of. I immediately realized how he got my number and I experienced a level of betrayal and anger that I am unable to put into words.

Theresa had flat out lied to me and ran my phone number, even though she had repeatedly promised me that she had not. I quickly told him that I was fine and I wasn’t doing anything illegal. He said that I was correct, that I wasn’t doing anything illegal but that he heard that I was possibly a danger to myself and possibly others and he cannot allow that.

How the fuck would you know that? 

I told him that he had nothing to worry about and that everything was just fine. I then hung up. It had now been less than 10 minutes since I hung up with Theresa and my blood was boiling. I began my day feeling miserable and worthless and now I was also feeling totally betrayed on top of it. Just then, a cop car flew through the parking lot.

Oh shit, that was fast. 

By the rate of speed he was going, I would have thought he was coming to see me but he went in one entrance of the lot and out the other without coming anywhere near me. The lot was pretty empty and it couldn’t have been too tough to see me, backed up alone next to the trees at the far end of the lot. Hmmm, maybe he was just patrolling the area. Things begin to happen pretty fast at this point so I am going to leave that for the next post.

While there was clearly some wheels that were put into motion once I called the help-line, there is no question that it saved my life. But the critical component of this part of the story is the realization that my family needed me. My children would someday walk down the aisle to begin the next phase of their lives and not having me there because of my own selfishness would be completely shitty of me. 

Yeah, selfish. I said it.

A suicide is a selfish act. The collateral damage is great and the scars for the survivors is massive. Its one thing for my children to lose me to cancer or a heart attack. As shitty as it would be, they would at least be able to point to something other than me for taking their father. If I truly felt that it was my responsibility to provide for them, a life insurance policy is short sighted.

Ok, so here is the other side of all of this; when you are gripped by depression, you can’t see that far ahead. I had a moment of clarity that Theresa helped me to see. Depression clouds everything and does not allow you to see things as they are. So while suicide is selfish, it is seen as the only possible solution by someone that cannot see through the haze.

The grief that is experienced by a survivor is great and overwhelming and anger is normal, but its important to know that it was committed by someone that truly believed that it was the only option. Its just plain shitty all around. That is not just an understatement, its reality. Again, if you are experiencing depression, you are not thinking clearly, regardless of what you believe. Go talk to a doctor or a trained therapist or someone that loves you. Its not time to double down and have a drink with a buddy. Alcohol makes it worse. Self care is critical at this time.

Sorry that this is such a long post.  It was kind of a big day for me.  I think it was probably one of the lowest days of my life.  But the very lowest moment was still to come.