I lost my father to suicide when I was nine years old. At the time, I had no knowledge of mental health conditions or why someone would take their own life. Our family was completely shaken; none of us saw it coming. My dad was always so full of life and love for everyone around him. I would give anything to have done something to save him.

At first I never cried about him; I didn’t think it was real and it never really set in that I would never hear his laugh again, or be able to hug him and tell him how much I loved him. Lord knows, I’ve made up for not crying as I’ve grown into an adult. As a way of coping, I’ve thrown myself into volunteering for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP).

This is a way for me to channel my grief into something good; devoting my time and passion to such an important cause helps me feel closer to my dad.

Suicide is 100% preventable and yet it is one of the top five leading causes of death in Georgia, and the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. Together, we can raise our voices about mental health conditions and fight to prevent suicide.

My case is the perfect example of why we need to erase the stigma against mental health. I believe that children should be taught about mental health early on, and that seeking help is part of healing. Just like you would visit a doctor to heal your broken leg, you should visit a doctor to check up on your mental well-being.

Thanks to AFSP, we are getting closer and closer to decreasing the suicide rate and increasing mental health awareness and education.

I first discovered AFSP when I found the Out of the Darkness Walk in Atlanta in 2014. I signed up for the walk for the first time and raised over $1,000. To see all of my friends and family donate to support my team and help in the fight against suicide was so inspiring. After participating in the walk and seeing the thousands of people who understood what I was going through, I knew that I wanted to be a part of AFSP and take on something that was bigger than me.

Currently, I am a volunteer for AFSP, and I serve on the Georgia chapter’s first Junior Board. We are a group of young professionals who all share an amazing passion for suicide prevention.

I am participating in another Out of the Darkness Walk and would appreciate if you could contribute to the cause by donating to my page. 

We raised about $13,000 at our Party for Prevention spring fundraiser in May of this year. We hosted the event at Orpheus Brewing, complete with live music, delicious barbecue, and a great live band. We raised the money through ticket sales, sponsorships and a silent auction.

It was so rewarding to see this event through from start to finish. I can’t wait to see what the Junior Board will do next!

I also had the honor of attending AFSP’s 2016 Advocacy Forum in Washington D.C. It was the trip of a lifetime, and I am so happy that I was a part of it. We marched up to Capitol Hill with a passion in our hearts so strong and our voices ready to be heard.

One of our ‘asks’ was to support the Female Veteran Suicide Prevention Act, which was then signed into law by President Obama on June 30th. Our voices were heard.

Another one of our ‘asks’ was to discuss the Helping Families in Mental Health Crisis Act. This act was approved by a 422-2 vote by the U.S. House of Representatives earlier this year. Our voices were heard.

The passing of these two acts is proof that we can lift the stigma against mental health. There are so many ways to get involved to support the goal of raising awareness for mental health, and fighting to prevent suicide. Please consider donating to our cause. If you have a passion, your voice will be heard and together, we can #BetheVoice to #StopSuicide.

I knew there was something out of place with me since my mom had been diagnosed with stage 3B breast cancer the summer going into my freshman year of high school.

It mainly expressed itself in extreme loneliness and despair, profoundly low self-esteem, isolation, racing thoughts, irrational fears and worries, suicidal ideations, and weight gain due to emotional overeating. I didn’t know how to express what I was going through, or even what I was going through.

Looking back, I can clearly point out the signs of my mental illness, but then, I just thought it was a normal part of life. Little did I know, this was just the tip of the iceberg for me.

On Easter Sunday of my sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends since preschool, Grace McComas, committed suicide. Grace had a crush on the boy next door. This harmless crush turned into him giving her drugs and alcohol, raping her, and then cyberbullying her and having his friends bully her in school until she finally left school on “home and hospital”.

I got to spend a weekend retreat with Grace a month before her death, and saw her at a birthday party two weeks before she died. She seemed like the same old girl I had knew for 13 years. I didn’t know the extent to which she was suffering, and how hard it was for her to even walk out of her home because of the fear she felt of the one who hurt her.

I didn’t find out Grace had died until the Monday after Easter. I was home alone when my best friend, and Grace’s best friend, texted me that her and her mom needed to come over to tell me something. I tried to remain positive, even though in the bottom of my heart, I knew she was dead.

When they got there, and told me Grace had died, I held it together. I needed to stay strong for my best friend. But when I went to my room to call my mom and sister who were at the store, I burst into tears.

I called my mom, and when she asked what was wrong, I whispered that Grace was dead so quietly that no one could hear but myself. When my mom asked again what was wrong, I choked “Grace is dead” one last time. This phone call haunts me to this day, although April 8th will be four years since she passed away.

I went to school the next day, numb, and walked through the halls in a blur with all of my fellow classmates staring at me. Those close to Grace were called out of class first period before the announcements and brought into the counseling center.

While the rest of the school heard over the intercom about Grace’s death, I listened to my favorite counselor say once again that Grace had died, still not completely believing it. Then, I walked down the hall, fell against the locker and cried, staying there for almost the rest of the period.

That first week after she died will forever be the worst week of my life.

Everyone I came in contact with would ask me questions about Grace and why she died, what happened, etc. I took on the role of suppressing my emotions in order to stay strong for my best friend as she grieved, and to protect her from all of the questions and rude remarks I endured as much as I could.

Kids are cruel. They don’t understand mental illness or grief, and they don’t understand how their remarks affected me so. They don’t understand that the times that they made fun of her, made crude remarks about suicide and how she died, or even said that she was a slut who deserved to die, broke me.

I tried to keep my mind off of it all by involving myself in all of the fundraisers, memorials, and other events in her honor. Although this worked, I still don’t remember a lot of the events, facts, or details of Grace’s death or the time after because I have repressed them so greatly, which haunts me every day of my life, some days more than others.

One of the things I took on after Grace died was starting a club called Active Minds at my high school after the guidance counselor asked me to be president. I put my everything into this club, even though in high school, mental health isn’t such a great concern for others, even after we lost someone to suicide.

I tried to do all that I could with Active Minds, and did all I could to work in Grace’s honor. We made a lot of policy changes, spoke at many events, and even helped to get an anti-bullying law called Grace’s Law passed in Maryland.

When it came time for college, I had a really hard time adjusting to leaving the place with all of my memories with Grace. I couldn’t drive past her house on my way home from school anymore, see everyone wear blue on her birthday and “Angelversary”, or have the support that I did at home.

College was great. Although there were some rough times, I found a really great group of friends who understand me, help educate me, and support me in every way possible. I also joined Loyola University MD’s chapter of Active Minds, and continued with my love of mental health advocacy at my new home.

I met some really inspiring people in this club, and found that I wanted to pursue psychology as a major. This love of mental health awareness and psychology lead to my job as an RA, as well as to me stepping up as president of Active Minds LUM for my junior and senior years of college.

Even with these great things in my life, my anxiety worsened greatly in college, to the point where I pursued a diagnosis and medication the summer going into my sophomore year of college. I was diagnosed with “anxiety with depressive symptoms” and given a daily medicine as well as an anxiety medication for my intense anxiety and occasional panic attacks.

This helped me greatly as I underwent summer RA training, met a whole new group of amazing staff members, and transitioned into my RA role and sophomore year. I love my job and my Vice President position for Active Minds. However, I didn’t realize what the implications of both would be like.

I had people coming to me left and right asking to talk about their mental illnesses, coping mechanisms, etc. It also led to me talking to more than four people about their suicidal ideations, and helping them get the resources that they needed.

This never came without the personal consequences, as it was triggering for me, and brought back unpleasant memories.

I also had to report a former friend for sexual harassment, which also triggered me immensely, and didn’t help things. By the end of my first semester, I was burnt out, and my anxiety and depression had become worse than ever.

I experienced more panic attacks this year that I have in my entire life. Some days, I became so depressed that I couldn’t leave my bed for hours on end. I isolated myself from my friends, my grades dropped, and I didn’t have the energy to do anything anymore.

After a while of bad coping skills and not reaching out for help, I reached out, and my friends reached back. It took me a while to recover from the hole that I felt that I was living in. Some days were so bad that I considered suicide, and although I would never act on these thoughts, they still took a toll on me.

I decided that it was time to tell my parents, and to relieve some of the stress I was under. While I still am nowhere near a completely healthy state of mental health, I am coping with the help of a loving family and some really great friends.

With Grace’s “Angelversary” coming up the week of writing this, I can feel myself slipping back into the dark hole that I was living in for a long time. I know that I have too many people around me that care to help me go back to that dark place, but I still feel like the pain hiding right under my consciousness is going to drown me, and it may.

What happened to Grace has made me a completely different person.

Yes, I developed even greater anxiety and depression, but that lead to me getting myself the treatment I needed. While there are many other anxieties that come from losing Grace, what I gained from knowing her outweighs any and every negative outcome of her death. I have finally become a person who I feel like I want to be.

Although I believe in the Jesuit value of the constant challenge to improve, I am so proud of all of the things I have accomplished in my life. Grace helped me to find my passion: psychology, mental health advocacy, and helping others. I wouldn’t be close to the person I am today without her.

Because of this, I try to exemplify the kindness she gave to every person she came in contact with. Losing Grace was the hardest thing I have ever been through in my life. I was robbed of the innocence and experiences of my high school years, which I can never get back. But with this loss of innocence comes the determination to show the compassion that Grace taught me in everything I do.

I want to make sure that Grace didn’t die in vain, because she was too amazing of a person to not be known to others. That is why I share my story along with Grace’s. While every instance of me sharing Grace’s story is still painful four years later, I know that through her story, she lives on, and she changes lives. That is why I approach every situation in my life with a ray of hope, and a touch of Grace.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal ideations, please reach out. You may think that no one cares, but that is a lie. I care. 1 (800) 273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. For those of you reading this who have fought your suicidal thoughts, we are sure as hell glad you are still here. To learn more about Grace’s story, check out the link below: http://magazine.loyola.edu/issue/alumni/4954/in-graces-honor With love, Dana Sauro

When I agreed to share Drew’s story, I knew it would be hard—so many buried emotions and feelings rising to the surface again. It has been said that if you can tell your story without crying then you know you are healed. It has been almost five years since Drew’s death and I am not healed.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of Drew—he was a part of me. Many times I will stop outside his bedroom door (now converted to an office) close my eyes and remember the way it used to be. I can see him lying across his bed and smell the mixture of cologne and dirty socks. There is a constant ache and void.

Drew was born on March 17, 1992—St Patrick’s Day.

We used to have so much fun celebrating his birthday. Everything we ate all day long was green! His birthday dinner always consisted of steak, baked potato, salad and his favorite Mountain Dew cake. Drew loved traditions and always wanted the same things year after year.

There are many fond memories of Drew. Anyone who knew him always commented on his contagious, mischievous smile along with the most unique laugh ever heard. He loved his family, sports and his loyal dog, Cocoa. He couldn’t sing or dance but that never stopped him from doing either. He loved hot sauce and habanero peppers. He took care of his G-ma, was a hard worker and always knew he could count on odd jobs from Uncle Smitty to make some extra spending money. He was a beloved son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin and friend.

On October 9, 2011, Drew came into our living room, laid on the sofa and put his head in my lap—it was something he had done even as a small boy, an unspoken request for me to rub his back. “I love you mama,”he said, little did I know that I would never hear those precious words from him again.

October 10, 2011,  was my fortieth birthday and the worse day of my life!  I was running late that morning and needed to get my daughter to school and myself to work. I remember hesitating outside his closed bedroom door, I almost stuck my head in to say good bye but decided instead to let him rest.

I had a feeling all day in the pit of my stomach that something wasn’t right and I knew it involved Drew. The feeling was so strong that I even discussed it with my friend and co-worker, Sherry. I tried to dismiss it as paranoia. I don’t remember the conversation that Hannah and I were having in the car that evening on our way home, but I’ll never forget the silence that fell over us both as we pulled into our driveway. Our yard was full of emergency vehicles and people. As I got out of the car, I saw my husband, Darrell walking towards me and I knew by the look on his face before he even said the words, “He’s gone—Drew is gone.” No parent should ever have to hear those words.

I hate the word suicide!

I wish it could be completely stripped from our vocabulary and never enter the mind of anyone as an option. Professionals say that those who consider suicide don’t really want to die, they just want the pain to end. Suicide does not end pain, it merely ends the chance of better days and a better life and causes unbearable pain for the loved ones left behind.

I was naïve about suicide, depression and mental illness before Drew’s death. It wasn’t long before I found the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s website and I’ll never forget sobbing as I read suicide warning signs:

1. Talking about wanting to die or killing oneself. (Although, he didn’t talk to us, we found conversations on his phone where he had discussed it.)
2. Having a plan in mind to kill oneself. (Again, conversations on his phone.)
3. The end of a significant relationship. (His relationship with his girlfriend of three years was ending.)
4. Increased alcohol and drug use. (Drew was doing both.)
5. Behaving recklessly. (Two serious car accidents and one arrest for driving recklessly.)
6. Withdrawing and Isolating. (Drew was doing both.)

Although I lived with guilt for a long while after Drew’s death, I’ve learned to be more gentle and forgiving with myself. If I had known then what I know now, I would have done many things differently—that’s the beauty of hindsight, you see everything clearly. I would have realized that what was going on with Drew was more than teenage rebellion and recognized his silent cries for help.

Many have asked me why Drew ended his life on my birthday—was it his final act of selfishness and cruelty? People who ask that question don’t understand suicide and didn’t know my son, Drew. October 10, 2011, just happened to be the day that Drew, overwhelmed by his feelings of hopelessness, despair and pain chose to end his life—nothing else was on his mind. I have to admit for many years I thought it was a cruel twist of fate that he died on my birthday, and I vowed that I would never celebrate it again.

Slowly, as years have passed, I’ve begun to look at it differently–Every October 10th for me is the anniversary of the beginning of a life and a life ending. My precious son chose death, but I choose life and embrace it for the wonderful gift that it is. I exist because my loving Lord and Creator gives me breath every day–

He has a plan and purpose for my life.

Losing a child to suicide is perhaps one of the most painful experiences imaginable; however, because I’ve experienced that pain, I can look into the eyes of another parent who has lost a child and tell them that I know how they feel and they are not alone—there is something about not being alone in our pain. I can also look into the eyes of a precious young person and tell them how much their life matters, that no matter how bad their circumstances seem there is help and hope—life can get better!

On Sunday, April 24, 2016, my family and I along with many dear friends will participate in the Out of Darkness Walk sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention at the University of Georgia. Participating in this walk not only remembers and honors Drew, but will help raise money for an organization that promotes mental health awareness and education. AFSP educates the public on the signs of depression and high suicide risk,  promotes programs in schools that teach administrators and teachers how to recognize children dealing with mental health issues and tirelessly lobbies for better and easier access to mental health care.

Will you consider walking with us or making a donation by clicking on the link below?

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and may God bless!

If you would like to donate to Tammy’s fundraiser, please click here: