Remember My Story

This week I celebrate my dad’s birthday without him here. Sadly, he died almost fifty years ago. He’d be ninety-seven years young now. That’s something difficult to think about. My dad … an old man.

He would have had the privilege to celebrate with his children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren. There would have been cake, I’m certain of that. Even though he never liked anyone fussing over him, he would have appreciated the gesture. Maybe he and I would have made it together, just like the old days.

He helped me

He helped me made my first cake—a yellow box cake with chocolate frosting. When we had finished, the frosting was in globs and the dessert sat lopsided on the plate, but he told me it was a work of art.

And I believed him.

I’m certain if we were celebrating his birthday this week, the conversation would have gotten around to hunting. My brothers and I would remind him that he took us all hunting when we were old enough.

I can hear him now, saying he didn’t hunt much after we grew up and left home. He’d say it wasn’t the same.

His words were sad

I’d remind him how he taught me gun safety rules from the time I was little. He taught all of us not to ever point a gun at anyone because terrible things could happen–there would be no turning back from a gun mishap.

I believed him about that, too.

That’s why this week is so terribly sad. When Dad was at a low point in his life … when he felt there was no going forward … when he felt there was more bad than good … he chose suicide over life.

How could I believe life was good after that?

I had spent my early life believing his every word. He was my world and I was his best gal. Then, after one act, his words–all his words–rang hollow. It took years for me to separate, pull apart his different messages, to know what I could hold close and what I had to throw away.

Lots to hold close

I believed him on so many topics, but this one thing—this last thing—I chose not to believe. It took many years of making my own mistakes and trying to control all the bad around me to realize he was wrong. Instead, I chose and still choose, to rely on my other father, my Heavenly Father.

What He tells me

My Heavenly Father tells me a different story. For example, he says:

… “I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.”
Hebrews 13:5

“… Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart,
because I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33

Remember my story

If you ever get so depressed that you think there’s no hope, remember my story.

Today there is no cake for me. Instead, I have the memory of receiving the phone call telling me how I lost my dad. I have carried heartache, confusion and misdirected guilt for years.

Yet God …

I thank God for His love for me. He helps me carry those memories.

And He can help you carry your pain, too.

If you’re in a dark place, hang in there. Accept love from healthy people around you and offer them love in return. And give your dark, painful situation one more day before you do something that can’t be undone.

Remember my story.

Every life has value, and no one should have to face overwhelming pain alone. Suicide is complex and rarely caused by a single factor, but effective strategies, open conversations, and proper intervention can save lives. Organizations like the CDC Suicide Prevention emphasize that creating supportive environments and reducing stigma are vital for community health.

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