May 28, 2010.

The date is etched into my bones.

It was supposed to be a fresh start. I was closing the door—physically and emotionally—on an on-again, off-again five-year relationship. He was headed to Hawaii. I was packing up my life, bracing myself to begin again. There’s a strange kind of freedom that comes with endings, even the messy ones. I was ready to exhale.

And then my phone rang.

It was my mom.

I didn’t answer the first time. I told myself I’d call her back later. I was in the middle of something, after all. But then it rang again. The second call carried urgency—the kind you can feel in your chest before you even hear a word.

I answered.

And everything shattered.

Through sobs and broken sentences, my mother told me that my father had taken his own life.

I didn’t know how to process it. We were estranged. We had a complicated history—one of silence, pain, rejection, and longing. I always believed that one day, maybe, we’d repair what was broken. That maybe, just maybe, we’d get the closure we both needed. That phone call took that hope away. Permanently.

There are moments in life where time seems to split—before and after. That was one of them.

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As May comes to a close, I feel the weight of this memory all over again. And I feel the need to say this louder than ever:

Mental health matters.

It’s not just a trendy hashtag. It’s not something we mention once a year and move on from. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s invisible pain that far too many carry silently. And for some, it becomes too much to bear.

If you’ve lost someone to suicide, you know this grief intimately. The questions that haunt. The guilt that creeps in. The unspoken words that will never be heard. If you’re struggling with your own mental health, I want you to hear this clearly:

You are not a burden. You are not broken. And you are not alone.

There is help. There is hope. There are better days ahead, even when you can’t see them.

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To those silently suffering:
Please talk to someone. A friend. A therapist. A hotline. Even a stranger. Your story doesn’t end here.

To those who love someone who struggles:
Check in. Even when they seem “fine.” Especially when they seem fine.

To the ones who left too soon:
We carry your memory forward. We speak your name. We advocate for the ones still here.

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This Throwback Thursday, I’m not sharing a photo. I’m sharing a scar.

Because our stories, even the painful ones, have the power to build bridges. To start conversations. To save lives.

May 28, 2010 changed my life. And while I’ll never have the ending I hoped for with my dad, I can do my part to change the narrative for someone else.

If you’re struggling, please know: there is no shame in asking for help. There is strength in being vulnerable. And there is always someone who cares—even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.

💚 You matter. Your life matters. Mental health matters.