I will always remember the sound of those sirens. My young third-grade mind thought nothing of them at the time. I was so naive and innocent, as a young child should be. But I was about to lose a tiny piece of innocence that day.

I have this tradition now when I hear sirens. I will always say a prayer for the person being cared for, their family, and for whomever will travel in that ambulance next. That awful, blaring noise no longer signifies the end of one life, but many lives. Do people ever really think of what seeing an ambulance means? Yes, someone was hurt, but it is so much more than that. We do not think of all the people left behind, of how their lives have ended, all because a loved one took their last breath. I know most of us don't start seeing life this way, not until it happens to you. When I was in third grade, my uncle took his life. He and his family lived just a walk down the street from my house. His ambulance passed right by my home while I sat in my Minnie Mouse dress, playing Barbie dolls with my sister. He was a wonderful man, and a brilliant father, but he was riddled with a pain that could not always be seen. A pain that even those who acknowledge its reality and accept its damage will never truly understand.

It wasn’t until years later that my mom told me of the woman, in our small town, who talked about my uncle and his death. She told others about what a horrible and disgusting person he was for killing himself. She belittled him to his fellow firefighters and was sadly overheard by his children, my cousins. Her ignorance was even larger than she was. It was laughable that she was so high and mighty that she could judge a man she barely knew. I wanted to ring her neck, make her cry, make her feel the pain of depression. I wanted her to feel that pure, unadulterated hopelessness. I wanted her to feel that there was no escape, that she was nothing but a burden upon her family. All this and more just so she could get a taste of what my uncle had gone through. You see, even in death, my uncle continued to help me throughout my life. I, like him, was depressed and suicidal. I have an anxiety and panic disorder which slowly lead to me wishing for death’s cold embrace.

I gained a new perspective into his life when I became depressed, and a new found anger towards the woman’s ignorance. She had the audacity to judge when she never even attempted to understand. Being suicidal is not just looking for a way out. In our eyes, we are not being selfish. In fact, the last person ever on our minds is ourselves. We worry about what others feel and think, and to us, we are nothing more than a burden to the people we love. I can see how it may come across as selfish; heck, even we sometimes know how selfish it can be, but what we can only think of is the never-ending pain and how it translates onto others. I understand all of this now that I have gone to that horrible place he was once at. So many judge others based on invisible flaws. The brain is just like any other organ; it has its problems and they should not be taken lightly or made fun of. Depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain that we cannot control. Many who do not suffer from this do not seem to understand. It has taken me years to realize that that is their problem, not mine.

I will never truly regret not telling that woman all of this. She can bask in her ignorance for all I care. The only thing I ever truly regretted was not telling my uncle how much I loved him when I had the chance.