Suicide prevention: Lighting the way for those drowning in darkness

Two years ago, I received a phone call that would change everything — that gutted me in so many ways and filled that emptiness with questions that I’ll never be able to answer.

That call was the center of a ripple effect that has led to countless nights of lost sleep, nightmares and overwhelming pangs of guilt that still leave me paralyzed.

You see, during that call I found out that one of my best friends was found dead in his apartment from what authorities suspect was a suicide attempt. Regardless of the true cause of that horrific event, I find myself at times drowning in a sea of what-ifs.

What if I sent him a quick message more often? A text? A call? A message on Facebook? Something to help reinforce to him that I really did care about him, thought about him often and genuinely appreciated everything he had to offer.

What if I made more time to spend with him the last time he visited me? Chatted about his beloved Nittany Lions, shared a few memories from hunting trips we enjoyed together and made plans to set up a few new outdoor adventures.

What if I tried harder to help shine a light in what had become his dark world? To let him know that he was truly part of our immediate family. And to share experiences of our faith and how it helps us handle some of the biggest storms anyone could ever face.

What if I had spent more time praying for him. That his situation would become less dreary. That he would find meaning and happiness and hope all around him.

I think of that especially when I go deer hunting early in the morning before sunrise. How the woods are so dark, quiet and lonely until that special moment when the sun peaks over the horizon.

All of a sudden, the woods come to life. Squirrels scurry through the dry, crackly autumn leaves on the forest floor. Turkeys start to fly out of their roosts with some gobbles, clucks and big wings flapping in the cool, crisp morning breeze. Pheasants crow in the distance. Leaves seem to glow in all their sun-drenched bright autumn-laced rainbow of oranges, yellows and reds. Woodpeckers begin their methodical drilling of dead, insect-filled tree limbs. Chickadees begin their familiar chorus of “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee.”

How I wish I could take Matt hunting just one more time. To share that experience with him and have another chance to forge a connection that would make a potentially life-saving difference.

For those of us left behind, we can take stock in the fact that no matter how dark, lonely and impossible life may seem, there is always the hope for another sunrise to chase away the shadows, warm the spirit and reawaken us like a warm spring day can snap us out of a winter-long stupor.

If you are reading this and find yourself in a dark place where the sun never seems to come – where the excitement of life seem drowned out by your current situation or circumstances outside of your control, there is still hope.

People do care about you. People who would forever be changed, scarred and broken if anything were to happen to you. Trust me as someone who is scarred, broken and still grieving the loss of a good friend.

Fortunately, I believe in the power of a God who can take a painful, desperate situation and turn it into something good, beautiful and impactful. For me, He is the sunrise that sparks off a tidal wave of color, light and warmth even on days where I feel defeated and worthless.

Help me make a difference and be the light in the lives of others who may desperately need it.

Make a phone call. Send a text. Share a moment of encouragement on Facebook. Reach out to a friend or family member who may be struggling with a tough situation and let them know they are valued, cared about and needed.

And as you reconnect with these people, share you stories in the comments below. Let’s encourage each other to pay it forward. Let’s learn to stand up for those who don’t feel able to stand on their own and build each other up as we reach out for others.

Please help me make sure that my friend’s death was not in vain.