Don’t

I was 11 years old when my father shot himself. It is a day that will live in my memory. A crisp summer day. High 60s.

Daddy used a shotgun. He did the act in his brother’s garage. My aunt found the body.

That was the year I became who I would be. My life was heading one way, but after that day, life went another route.

It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of black paint over me. Everything was altered. Colors looked different. The way I talk changed. Sleep patterns changed. I developed an eating disorder.

You don’t undergo the suicide of a loved one then go home and cut the grass.

Likewise, you don’t ever forget the way the sheriff's deputy came to your house, sat you down, and said, “We had to use dental records to identify your daddy, son, because…” The officer cleared his throat. “Well, we couldn’t tell it was your daddy.”

I am not looking for sympathy. I am not looking for help. I’ve had decades of therapy and lots of help. I’m not looking for anything. Except this:

I write columns for newspapers. They run in the East. The run in the West. And for some reason, people read these columns. Which only shows you how far America’s standards have fallen.

But if you’re reading this, I’d like you to think about something. Today, as you go about your routine; as you feed your kids; as you walk the dog and pick up their doggy excrement in little plastic bags; as you brew your coffee; as you browse Facebook, think about this:

In the last 20 years, suicides rose 36 percent. Ask any cop, paramedic, fire-medic, nurse, or therapist. It’s an epidemic worse than diabetes. Worse than obesity. Worse than the epidemic of pop-country music.

Last year, suicide was responsible for about 50,000 U.S. deaths. About one death every 11 minutes in America is a suicide.

The amount of people who think about or attempt suicide is higher.

Last year, 12.3 million Americans thought about suicide. A staggering 3.5 million planned a suicide. That’s a population six times the size of Nebraska. Imagine six Nebraskas, compiled together. That’s how many people thought about it.

Suicide is the third leading cause of death for 15- to 24-year-old Americans. Twenty-two American veterans commit suicide each day. About 800,000 suicides occur worldwide each year.

And yet here’s the thing. Nobody talks about it. Not until a celebrity dies this way. Then everyone makes a post on social media, and everyone sends their sympathy. And then we forget about it.

Which I understand. In fact, you’re probably not even reading these words right now. I don’t blame you.

But the stats don’t lie. Statistically speaking, you know someone, RIGHT NOW, who is thinking of ending their own life.

Right now, there is someone reading these words who has planned such an event.

It’s important to note, I am nobody from Nowhere, USA. I am not an expert. I have bad teeth, a big nose, and I have not emptied the dishwasher in 21 years of marriage. But if I have any platform at all, I want to say this:

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know how to make your life better. I don’t know anything. But I know there are a lot of people out there who love you. I am one of them.

And if you take your life, you will take ours too. So please, PLEASE….

Don’t do it.