My youngest grandson was recently in Children’s Hospital with a broken leg. I left his room to get some water and met a pretty woman wearing a purple blouse in the snack room. She asked what brought me to the hospital. I told her, and I asked the same. She looked me square and said, “Do you really want to know?”

I nodded and said, “Yes.”

In very few words, she told me her fifteen-year-old child jumped off a tower and has been in the hospital for six months, and then told me details of the tragic story. She softly mentioned how much active fun they used to have; she paused and added, “If you think suicide among young kids is not a thing, you are wrong. And, we need more mental health services in schools.” She turned and walked out of the small room and down the hall.

Along with schools starting all over the country and the fun activities of Labor Day, September is also Suicide Awareness Month.

To repeat the woman’s words, “If you think suicide among young kids is not a thing, you are wrong!”

Suicide is something most people don’t talk about. Some think bringing it up makes it more likely to happen. It’s hard for me to write about in a column of this length because it is so complex—there are so many factors that can lead to the often quick decision to take one’s own life.

Think about a beautiful embroidery piece with multi-colored flowers, flowing scrolls, and exquisite hand stitching. That is how humans can look on the outside: together and well. Now, turn and look at the underside of the embroidery. You will likely see knots, loose strings, and tangles. That is how many people feel on the inside: confused, unsure, afraid, worried.

An unexplained, unforeseen, and irreversible event forever changed the woman in the snack room and her once vibrant child.

Whether close or at a distance, suicide has touched us all. Having a designated month to raise awareness of suicide is a good thing. Go to Google Suicide Awareness Month and scroll through various relevant information. I will address different aspects of suicide my next three articles.

I can still clearly recall the fear, frustration, hurt, and unfairness in the mother’s eyes in the snack room at the Children’s Hospital. She was angry, and I didn’t blame her.

I left with my plastic glass of water, feeling stunned and sad, but also knowing I received a nugget of appreciation—my family was dealing with a broken leg that would heal. I was grateful she spoke to me, a total stranger, of her truth about the tragedy of attempted suicide. Her child is alive, and many would call that fortunate—I don’t know what she would’ve called it.

Until the next time: Live while you live.

Jennifer Goble, Ph.D., LPC, is the author of “My Clients…My Teachers,” and the blogger and writer of Rural Women Stories: www.ruralwomenstories.com.

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