When Work Hits Home

Tomorrow, July 21^st, is what would have been my brother, Brian’s, 30^th birthday, and my grandfather Lou’s 85^th. A big day for them both. But instead, I’m sitting here thinking about how I’m going to commemorate the day without them – either one of them – because they are both gone too soon.

Those of us in mental health advocacy often throw ourselves fully – hearts, heads, and minds - into our work, to better the lives of others. Sometimes it’s to prevent what has happened to us from happening to others; sometimes it is to pass on the good fortune we have experienced, through good support systems, recovery tools and/or role models. Every day, we hear stories from the people we serve, and each one is more heartbreaking and more motivating than the next. Mostoften we put our own lives, and experiences, aside.

But then there are those times when life creeps up on us, and we cannot put aside the reality of why we do what we do. Maybe it’s the anniversary of a date when you became sober; maybe it’s the commemoration of a hospitalization. For me, it’s the birthday, and anniversary days, of those I lost to suicide. For me, the two people who I would most call my mentors, my brother and my grandfather, are also the two who more than anyone else are why I am part of this field. And strangely enough, they share the same birthday. Seven and a half years ago, at the age of 22, my brother Brian took his own life. Now, just a day before what would have been his 30th birthday, I am left just wondering what he would be doing and what amazing things he would have accomplished if he were around. Maybe he would be married and I would have nieces and nephews; maybe he would be a bachelor in the big city. In the least, I have no doubt he would be making an indelible mark on this world, and he would still be here as my other half.

The night Brian died, my grandfather Lou drove me back to my mom’s house to be with my family. That year and for the next three while I was in school, he and my grandmother came to every one of my college football games (where I was a cheerleader); and he and I shared adoration for our mutual alma mater. Lou was a very successful businessman before I even knew him, and he became my mentor as I embarked on the formation of what is now Active Minds, Inc. He was the kindest, most endearing man I ever knew. Always supportive, Lou pushed me when I needed to be pushed and helped me sit back, reflect and appreciate when the time was right. About nine months ago, I lost my mentor – my grandfather Lou – also to suicide.

Both men played a pivotal role in my life, and both men have contributed more than they ever could know to who I am today. And it is because of these two men, and the families who commemorate birthdays and the anniversaries of a loved one’s death every day, that I do what I do. For me as an advocate, it is times like this that really make work hit home.