"Depression is a seductress, and she whispers lies. she speaks of suicide as though taking life were a noble means of giving life to others." Levi Macallister, This is Not the Time for Goodbyes

This past week was national suicide prevention week. Across the media, we have heard from numerous people regarding this touchy topic, and I'm going to add my voice. My voice, however, is the voice of a family member who lost a loved one to this devastating act.

I've lost three direct members of my family to suicide. Each of them had one resounding belief: "No one will miss me; I'm better off dead."

I am here to tell you one thing: That thought is wrong.

No one will miss me; I'm better off dead.

Lee's three sons spent months, if not years, searching for the answer as to why their father was no longer here—why didn't he just reach out? When they went to pick up the phone to call him, they remembered, and they sobbed again with the reality that their father was no more. His ex-wife, though no longer officially married, experienced the heartache of truly losing her first love. She could no longer see him and reminisce about things their children did in their prime; something was missing—he was missing. His grandchildren—my brother and I—didn't understand why we couldn't sit at grandpa's feet and hear "back in my day" stories until the sun went down. We listened to other kids talking about how their grandfathers doted on them, and we were constantly reminded of the man we were missing.

There was a hole in my family that did not exist before September 13, 2004. Suddenly daily tasks became difficult because something—anything—would remind us and that hurt, that desperate longing to see him one more time, would hit us like a ton of bricks. We miss you, grandpa. Our family aches without you.

No one will miss me; I'm better off dead.

Wade's wife collapsed on his casket when the truth finally hit her: she is a widow. The rooms in their house suddenly became smaller. She could no longer frequent restaurants because it reminded her of him; she could barely breathe these days. Just when she thought she was out of tears, they would immediately begin again. His mother, still coping with the suicide of his father months previous, felt as if a piece of her heart had been ripped out—a mother should not outlive her child. Looking at her remaining two sons hurt for so long because the third musketeer could never join their antics. Wade's brothers wept. How could the youngest be gone so soon? He had just turned 30 the day before... he had so much life left to live. Their brother—the one on whom they played all the tricks—could no longer join the bonfire conversations on the river until the wee hours of the morning.

On August 24, 2005, the already existing hole in our family got larger. Holidays became more painful, family reunions simply hurt too much, and the already difficult task of moving forward seemed near impossible. Wade, we miss you .

No one will miss me; I'm better off dead.

Vicki's husband found his wife. His love, his suitable helper, is gone. Suddenly any fight, irritation, or frustration seems trivial. That house held sorrow; every room reminded him of her. Every creak in the floor gave him false hope in her return. Everything just hurt . Vicki's son spiraled, and her stepchildren questioned. A life without mom and stepmom isn't something for which they were prepared, and their lives were completely altered. Now her son visits her headstone when he wants to talk about life; she has become a mere memory. When teachers would ask for his mother's signature, he once again relived the tragedy that took place on July 8, 2011. That house became a death sentence, for every room was hers. He began to act out, and he didn't have a mother to right his path.

Vicki, you would be proud of Ryan. He's getting his life back, and he talks about you often. Your absence is noticed and met with grave sadness.

No one will miss me; I'm better off dead.

Your best friend will hear the news over the intercom, and she will sob silently in class. No one will be able to comfort her because they will all be shocked and struck somber by the news. As the days go on, your seat will remain empty, and your friend will find it harder and harder to face that glaringly empty spot, so he will simply stop showing up. Your teachers will sit with the grief and sorrow of a pupil—one full of so much potential—no longer present. Your parents will cringe as they pass your door; a mother too heartbroken to enter, and a father trying so hard to keep it together in spite of the unending wave of sadness greeting him at every family photo, every memory, and every song on the radio you used to play. Your siblings will suddenly be faced with a life without big brother or sister to help them through. They will never understand why their hero ended their life so quickly, and they will search for you in every corner.

You will be missed; you're better off alive .

Please, friend, please reach out to someone—anyone. The people who will miss you most are the ones who are always there; they fade into the peripheral because they have become staples in your life. They will grieve for years following, and their life will become marked by that day.

There is more to this life than what is happening. Hope is alive; do not end your story because of a difficult chapter.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4, ESV

Hold on; a better day is coming.

Keep living. Please, keep living.