The Power of Images and Trauma

I am sure I have mentioned Kevin Hines before. If not in my writing, you have probably heard me speak about him. He jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge almost 20 years ago in an attempt to end his life. By the absolute Grace of God, he survived. He now spends his life sharing his story all over the world.  Kevin always says, “A pain shared is a pain halved”. There is so much power in that single statement and it is something that I have clung to since losing my beautiful brother to suicide.

It is so easy to share our joys and our successes with other people.  It is human nature to want others to only see the good that we have to offer.  It is never easy to share the hard and the ugly because we don’t want others to see us as weak or broken. But we are all human and if we aren’t willing to share our real-life experiences, good or bad, then how will we ever learn to be kinder and more empathetic human beings?  It has never been easy to share our story of suicide loss or our grief journey that has followed. It is gut wrenching at best to put my heart (and that of my family’s) on the line for all to see.  I do so because sharing it somehow lessens the burden I have been forced to carry. As Kevin says, it halves the pain in some crazy and therapeutic way.  I also share because I want you to learn from our pain.  I want you to use the hard lessons we have learned in the aftermath of Jamie’s suicide to be more empathetic and to be more aware of how every single thing we do has an effect on those around us… which takes me to Sunday morning.  

There was an article trending on social media Sunday.  It was one of the first things I saw in the morning when I started trolling my feed for something interesting to read.  The article was clearly about suicide. It took me a few hours to compose myself long enough to read it, but when I did, I found that it was a beautifully written article and the message that it carried was, indeed, very important. However, initially, it 100% undid me from the inside out. Absolutely all the progress I have made in the last 22 months vanished in one single breath. I was immediately just as grief stricken as I was in the moment that I learned Jamie had taken his own life.  I screamed. I cried. I vomited and I begged God for understanding as my husband stood by helpless (again). It was awful. Here’s the thing. It wasn’t the article. It was the image that accompanied the article that unraveled me.   

Images are powerful, my friends.  We all know that. I see a picture of the farmhouse my grandparents lived in and I can remember exactly the way it smelled.  I see a picture of my favorite beach and I can hear the waves and I can taste the salt on my lips. I see a picture of my girls as toddlers and I can remember the way their sticky little hands felt on my face.  I see a picture of my brother and I can almost feel his kiss on my forehead the way he would do when he hugged me. I can hear his infectious laugh that always followed his “Hey, Baby Girl” as he would greet me.   A single image has enough power to transport us right back to all our favorite places, moments, and people. Images are truly an amazing and magical gift. Sometimes. 

On the other hand, a single image can be equally as hurtful.  For example, I know I am not speaking for just myself when I say that seeing an image of an elegant, thin, fit, beautiful, and seemingly flawless woman can make me feel immediately inferior.  In the matter of a millisecond, it can rob me of every last ounce of self-esteem that I might happen to still possess! Can I get an AMEN, sisters?!? I know you know what I am talking about!  

Images. Are. Powerful.  

I have been very open over the last 22 months about the anger, the guilt, the what ifs, the regrets, the shame, and the feelings of betrayal that accompany suicide grief.  It wasn’t until Sunday’s unfortunate set back that I realized I haven’t talked much about the trauma that we are also left to live with.  And, yes, trauma is different than grief.  The trauma is what complicates our grief and gives it more layers than we will ever be able to peel back.  

Self-inflicted gunshot wound, intentional drug or alcohol overdose, carbon dioxide poisoning, jumping off a bridge/building, hanging, etc.…  it doesn’t matter the means that your loved one chose in order to complete suicide.  It is traumatic, violent, and brutal. It’s just plain unimaginable.  Whether we are left to find our loved one or not the image of what they have done to themselves is ours to live with for the rest of our lives. We replay their final act over and over and over again in our minds as we search and beg for understanding.  It doesn’t matter if it has been a week, a month, 2 years, or 20 years, the trauma is real.  

I am not writing this piece to make anyone feel bad or to seek sympathy.  I am simply sharing more of our “hard and ugly” to remind you that our scars are real.  I fully support sharing things on social media. Clearly. If it wasn’t for social media, I would have never had the opportunity to connect with so many of you or to be so successful in our first year with The JBR Foundation.  Social media, if used properly, is an incredible tool for connecting all of us. However, I do ask you… No. I am BEGGING you to be more mindful of the things we share. Even though the content of an article may be incredibly compelling and moving, the image that accompanies it may be more powerful than any words one could possibly write.  

On behalf of the 48,000 families a year that are left behind by suicide loss, please consider it.  An image of someone with a handful of pills, or the gesture of a gun to the head, or a picture of a noose hanging from the ceiling may be just that to you… just an image.  To families like mine, it is a dangerous trauma trigger.  

It is a reminder of our loved one’s last act on earth. It is a reminder that they chose to leave us. And, it hurts us more than I ever hope for you to know.  

You are loved. You are worthy. Your life here matters. And, YOU are someone’s Jamie.

XO - Jennifer

National Hotline for Suicide Prevention - 1-800-273-8255 or Text 741741

Just Show Up

It has been just over 18 months since my brother, Jamie, chose to leave us. Sadly, there have been so many more suicides since his.  Not people that I have known personally, but people that my friends and acquaintances or even some of you that follow me here have known.  So many of you have reached out to me and there is one question that I seem to get asked almost every single time.  “What is the best thing I can say or do to help my friend that has just lost their loved one to suicide”?  I seem to always give the same response.  And, honestly, it is so simple.  Just. Show. Up. 

Since the very moment we learned of Jamie’s suicide until today, people in our lives have shown up for us in a million different ways.  Even though it is incredibly painful to revisit some of these moments, it has been on my heart to share with you because without people showing up in our lives, I am honestly not sure how we would have survived suicide loss.  Let’s talk about showing up, my friends. 

I hate to cook.  I tell everyone that I only have a kitchen because it came with the house.  However, it was one of those rare days that I felt inspired to make sure I had a warm meal on the table for my family.  It was a Tuesday, so I went with the Taco Tuesday theme and I was feeling pretty darn proud of the fact that I was cooking dinner!! As I was slaving away over the stovetop browning hamburger for the tacos, my husband’s phone that was laying on the counter next to me rang.  I looked over at the caller ID and saw that it was my Mom calling him.  I remember saying to him, “That’s weird.  She didn’t call my phone first.  She always calls my phone first”. Tony shrugged his shoulders and answered the phone. 

Immediately all the color disappeared from his cheeks and he had a look on his face like I have never seen before.  It was a combination of disbelief, shock, horror, fear, and more sadness than I had ever seen in my husband’s eyes.  He put the phone down.  He reached over my shoulder and turned the burner on the stovetop off.  He took the spatula out of my hand and he said, “Go get your things.  We need to leave.  Now”.    It didn’t take long for me to realize what was happening.  Remember, I have told you before that the 6 or 7 months prior to Jamie’s suicide were less than stellar.  So, I just knew.  I knew right then in that very moment that our lives had just changed forever.    

I don’t know exactly what I did then or how much time passed between that phone call and realizing that my best friend, Jen, was suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere in my house.  Where the hell did she come from?  How did she know we needed her right now?  Of course, Tony had called her, but I didn’t know that then.  There are bits and pieces of time from receiving that phone call and leaving my house that I have no recollection of.  I think my mind completely checked out of reality for a short time, but I do have an image of Jen sitting on the couch with both of my children, one in each of her arms consoling them that is forever burned into my memory.  I remember my girls crying and frantic and asking all of us to explain what was happening. I don’t remember what I told them, or if I even told them anything.  Probably not.  I simply had no capacity to parent in that moment. 

My point in all of this is that my best friend showed up. Right there in the immediate moments that we were learning of Jamie’s suicide, she showed up.  I am sure it felt like she walking into the house of horrors but without missing a beat she did what no friend should ever have to do for another.  She sat with my children for hours that night until we got home.  To this day, I have never had the courage to ask her what kind of conversations she could have possibly had with my children or the things she probably had to explain to them while we were gone.  My God.  My heart honestly can’t take knowing.  Not now.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever.  She showed up. 

It was 32.2 miles from my front door to my brother’s front door.  But I swear to you we drove about 1,894 miles that night getting to his house.  It was the longest car ride of my entire life.  When we finally turned down his street it was lined with police cars, fire trucks, ambulance, and worst of all, there was already a hearse in the driveway.  I had prayed the entire car ride.  I had hoped the entire car ride.  I had begged and I had pleaded with God the ENTIRE CAR RIDE that somehow, someway, we had misunderstood and that my beautiful brother would be alive when we got there.  But there sat a god forsaken hearse in my brother’s driveway. 

I swear to you that’s when I felt myself leave my own body for a moment.  It was a complete out of body experience that I hope like hell I never experience again.  It was a terrifying feeling.  Absolutely everything around me disappeared except two things…  the damn hearse sitting in my brother’s driveway that I couldn’t quit looking at and my Aunt Charlotte.  My Aunt Charlotte? I remember thinking to myself that it was freezing outside.  Why was she standing outside like that and what was she doing?  Turned out she had been standing outside in the freezing cold and in the bitter wind waiting for me to get there.  She pushed aside her own grief in that moment to wait for me.  She knew what was happening at my brother’s house and she wanted to shield me from seeing things that I would never be able to un-see.  She helped get me out of the car and into my brother’s neighbor’s house where my parents were waiting for me.  Here she was facing the suicide of a child that she loved like her own son and she found the strength to show up… for me.  She showed up.  (And, for the record, my Aunt Charlotte has showed up for us in a MILLION ways over the last 18 months, but that is another publication entirely on its own). 

And those neighbors that I just mentioned?  They showed up too.  I later learned that only 7 months before Jamie’s suicide their own son had also died by suicide.  MY GOD!  They were still coming to terms with their own child’s suicide and they were kind enough to take my family into their home and offer us a safe place to process our loss.  They listened to us cry and scream and plead with God.  They wept with us.  They picked us up and offered us the only thing you can offer a family in that moment… compassion.  How horrifying for them to relive their worst moment with another family.  I have no idea their names.  I think about them so often though.  I have only returned down that street one time.  I wanted to be the one to pick out the clothes that we laid my brother to rest in, so I went back only that once.  I hope that someday I have the strength to drive back down that street.  I would love nothing more than to knock on their door and thank them for showing up for my family that day.  Complete strangers… and they showed up. 

Let’s talk about my husband for a minute.  He showed up for my family in ways that I never dreamed he would have to.  The night of Jamie’s suicide the time came for us to leave that kind neighbor’s house.  It was time to go face Jamie’s children.  My parents were, of course, going with Jamie’s wife to do so, but they were in no shape to face it alone.  Someone had to step up, find the strength, and take them to do it.  Who else, but Tony?  Of course, Tony.  I will never in my life forget watching my husband put my weeping parents in the car to go do the most unimaginable thing ever.  You may think that his doing this was no big deal.  He is my husband after all, right?  Oh no, my friends.  This is the kind of shit you don’t sign up for when you get married.  I am sure the task of helping deliver that kind of news to our precious nephew and two beautiful nieces is a memory that will haunt him forever.  He showed up in a big, big way that night (and a million times since then too – again, an entirely different publication all on its own).  He showed up. 

The next day as news spread our friends, our family, and the communities that we each live in started to show up for us in all the expected ways following a death.  Cards were sent, food was delivered, visitors filled the home I grew up in to offer their condolences, and my house turned into a flower shop overnight.  My goodness, I literally couldn’t find another place to stick a flower or a plant if I had to!!!  It was overwhelming.  People showed up. 

There were some unexpected ways that people showed up too.  I am not an incredibly social person in the community that I live in now.  People I grew up with and that know me from back home have a very hard time believing that about me, but it is true.  I guess I have just never found “my people” in Mt Pleasant.  Except for a few close friends, I pretty much keep to myself here.  So, imagine my surprise when five Mommas from the community got together and showed up for me.  They sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers and collectively went in together on a gift card to my favorite running store so that when I was ready to start chasing pavement again, I could treat myself to some new running gear.  I mean… go ahead and insert all the ugly tears here please!!!!  By the way, the flowers and the gift card have nothing to do with my telling you this.  The point is that I will never forget their kindness or the fact that they cared enough about my pain to show up for me.  They showed up. 

We had some late nights the week of Jamie’s suicide.  We were at my parent’s house, of course, during the day and all evening.  It would be late at night before I could pry myself away to go back to my house.   For one, I hated leaving my Mom and Dad.  And, my house was empty and not full of people and distractions like my parent’s house was.  It was dreadful going home to such an empty house.  So, again, imagine my surprise when we pulled in late one night to see that the quiet, but very sweet neighbor from across the street (that I never really talk to much) still had her light on.  She stayed by her window watching for us to get home just so she could come over and offer me a hug, her condolences, and some groceries.  To this day I don’t think she realizes how much that simple but incredibly kind gesture meant to me.  She showed up. 

My eating and sleeping habits went to shit fast.  I am already not a very good eater, so eating was one of the first things to go in the days following my brother’s suicide.  I lost 9 pounds very quickly and I am not a person that is always packing around an extra 9 pounds to lose!    Again, my friend Jen, showed up.  We have one of those friendships…  the kind where she can order for me from any menu you hand her.  She just knows what I will and won’t eat.  After hearing from many people in my inner circle that I wasn’t eating and I was losing weight at warp speed, she showed up with a to go bag from a local restaurant with the exact meal I would have ordered if I had been there myself.  She sat at my kitchen table and she refused to leave until I ate it.  Literally.  She would have sat there for 3 days if I had not just given in and taken some bites because… well, because she’s that stubborn!!  When I was not capable of taking care of even my most basic of needs, she showed up and did it for me.  She showed up.   

People showed up not by the dozens for Jamie’s visitation and funeral, people showed up by the hundreds.  I know I have told you before that my family and I greeted over 750 people the night of Jamie’s visitation.  The line was long.  Those that came literally waited in line for 4 to 5 hours just to give us a hug.  The next morning the funeral home had set up 400 chairs for the funeral.  It was full.  Standing room only.  The outpouring of love and compassion that was shown to my family is still so overwhelming that I have tears rolling down my cheeks as I type this.  I will never be able to recall his visitation or funeral without crying simply because of the way people showed up… by the hundreds.  They showed up.

A few months after Jamie’s suicide when I started writing this blog, I met with a dear family friend, Kent (now one of my JBRF team members too).  I wanted to write a piece on mental health and our education system.  He worked 30+ years as a school psychologist so I knew he was the perfect person to interview.  I won’t rehash all of that because you can go back and find it on my blog.  I only bring it up because he showed up for me in a big, big way that day too.  I was completely losing myself in my own grief at that point and just as I was wrapping up our visit that day, he stepped up and confronted me about it.  Long story short, he ultimately asked me how I planned to advocate for mental health and suicide prevention when I wasn’t even taking care of my own mental health.  What kind of a role model was I being for my children when I wasn’t even brave enough to admit that I needed my own help? Wow, right?  It was a reality check for sure.  He had already arranged for me to call a friend of his that is a psychiatrist.  He told me I had until that Friday morning at 8am to call and confirm an appointment.  (Let me acknowledge that not everyone is so blessed to have that immediate of access to mental health care. It’s a huge problem and a topic for another day. I realize how incredibly lucky I was). I made the phone call to confirm my appointment only because I didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Kent after he had gone above and beyond like that for me.  Truth is, he likely saved my life that day by showing up for me and by pushing me to get my own help.  He showed up. 

My childhood best friends have gone above and beyond with their gifts and acts of love.  They still send random text messages to say nothing more than “I love you and I am thinking of you today”.  Let me tell you, my friends, those random messages are EVERYTHING.  There are days that I have clung to their words looking for strength and there are days that their words alone have gotten me through.  Don’t discount what a simple “I am thinking of you” can do for a person.  Let me say that again because I want you to hear this one… Do NOT discount what a simple “I am thinking of you” can do for a person. With every little message and every little act of love, they have showed up. 

If you are reading this then YOU TOO have showed up for us!!!!  Every single time you read, like, share, or engage with something that I write or post, you are showing up!!  Your support and your words of encouragement mean so much.  So many of you have supported The JBR Foundation by helping to spread our message, by donating, by sponsoring, by attending our events, etc.  You are showing up!!!!

I could go on and on forever about more ways that people have showed up for me.  A beautiful bracelet from a colleague of my husband’s, a beautiful necklace from my college roommate, a beautiful canvas designed by those childhood best friends, and so many other beautiful gifts that now grace my home.  The gifts are great and wonderful… tangible things that I can keep forever.  But the gifts aren’t what matter.  What matters most is that that each of those people took the time out of their own lives to find a way to show up and to show me that they see and care about my pain.  They showed up. 

I share all of this to show you that it really takes so little to show up for other people!!  It doesn’t matter if you are a best friend, an aunt, a stranger, an acquaintance, the quiet neighbor across the street, a spouse, a childhood bestie, a family friend, a colleague, a college roommate, etc.…

Just show up. 

XOXO – Jennifer

National Hotline for Suicide Prevention:  1-800-273-8255 or Text HELP to 741741

Tribute To My Friend - Writer: Tedd Van Vleck

Holy WOW, my friends! I woke up this morning to an unexpected message from one of Jamie’s work colleagues and best friends, Tedd Van Vleck. I cried all the ugly tears reading it not because it made me sad necessarily, but because it brings my heart joy to know how very loved Jamie was and still is.

I have said it before and I will say it again; the truth is… my family is selfish. We are so selfish with our grief that sometimes we forget to recognize the fact that Jamie’s suicide didn’t just change our lives, but it changed the life of every single person that knew and loved him too.

The ripple effect suicide has and the collateral damage it leaves in its wake is truly beyond measure.

Thank you, Tedd, for sharing with all of us your love for Jamie and how his suicide has affected your life.

Thank you for loving my brother.

XO - Jennifer

Tribute To My Friend - Writer: Tedd Van Vleck

I met Jamie in 2012 when I moved to Galesburg with work. We were on the same team and my first impression of him was that he needed to CALM down! Haha. I had never met someone with a mind all over the place and the energy that he had. I quickly realized the passion that he carried with it.

To this day, I would pick Jamie to be on my team for just about anything; from moving trains to a competition and especially in golf! The guy had the most heartfelt and genuine laugh I have ever heard. He could hit a golf ball and land it anywhere he wanted… (except when putting)!!!

Here’s an ironic thing about our friendship. I was playing golf with Jamie and Joe Nichols in Burlington one day and we stopped at Buffalo Wild Wings. I received a call from my best friend’s wife after we walked in and quickly ran outside to take the news that my best friend had just died by suicide. I had met him at our babysitter’s house when we were 3 years old and we had remained best friends. Although we both had moved around with work, I thought that we would retire somewhere together one day. We made trips to see each other almost every year and we had talked not too long before his suicide trying to figure out when and where to meet next… which made his suicide even more confusing. The guy had a beautiful wife, incredible kids, and an amazing career that not only took care of him and his family but was also challenging and very rewarding. I was incredibly proud of him. I went back inside to share the news with Joe and Jamie. I remember telling Jamie on that day and on one other occasion how angry I was that my best friend didn’t reach out and give me a chance to help him or to at least tell me goodbye. I shared all of my grief with Jamie about the situation and the pain that my best friend’s children, family, and friends were feeling because of his decision. Ironically, Jamie and I talked a lot about my friend’s suicide.

Although I met Jamie so late in life, he quickly became a best friend to me too. I am not sure how you couldn’t love him. We had epic arguments at work but he taught me so much on how to railroad even though I was actually his boss. We played pranks, hung out when we weren’t at work, and he taught me a ton about managing a round of golf. I have so many stories I could share!

We talked a lot during the last month of his life and sent text messages that I have went through over and over. I stayed up after midnight multiple times talking him through things that he was struggling with. I now live in Texas but yet he stayed in touch with me more than anyone that I worked with in Galesburg. He was my true friend and I had imagined that he and I would end up on a golf course somewhere together during our retirement.

Jamie spoke so highly of his children, his family, and especially of his dad. He admitted to mistakes he had made and I pointed out all of the things that he had also done right. One thing Jamie definitely was… emotional. That is a positive thing but he was so quick to get down on himself. Sometimes you had to point out the positive side of things and I felt like we had worked through SO much of that in the last month before his suicide. I had even commented to one of our old bosses the progress I thought we had made.

I know I hadn’t brought up my best friend’s suicide in our final talks… but I wish I had. Maybe that could have changed things. Maybe I should have talked longer, been more direct, been softer, invited him down, asked if I could have come up to visit him. All the same things that had plagued me for years with my other friend now plague me when I think of Jamie. However, in the end, I do realize how much this truly is a disease.

I consider my time with Jamie a blessing. I am not angry with him. I am happy that he made a mark on my life for the good. Having lived through the loss of two friends to suicide has in a way helped me to heal and to stop blaming myself for not doing more! I hope you try to look at the positives that can come from tragedy and to not blame yourself or the person you have lost. Learn from Jamie and spend that extra minute with someone. Help even when you may not have the time. Don’t wait until tomorrow for that conversation and never go to bed mad.

-Tedd Van Vleck

-National Hotline for Suicide Prevention: - 1-800-273-8255

Surviving Suicide & Finding Hope – Writer: Jay W.

In honor of Suicide Prevention Month, we recently heard from a woman who has experienced brushes with suicide as a Wife, a Mom, and a Sister.  Tonight, we get to hear from Jay.  Jay has not only experienced suicide loss as a young child but he, himself, is a suicide attempt survivor. 

I will give you a fair warning that Jay’s story is cringy and it is incredibly uncomfortable to read.  For one, he endured abuse as a child.  That abuse catapulted him into feelings of inadequacy and into a lifelong battle with depression and anxiety.  And, who wants to read about that, right?  That’s the problem though, my friends.  There are literally thousands of young adults that could tell a story similar to Jay’s.  Uncomfortable or not, their stories need to be heard if we hope to remove the stigma surrounding mental illness and suicide.

Suicide is now thought to be the 2nd leading cause of death for Americans between the ages of 10 and 34.  To say that we have a mental health crisis among adolescents and young adults in the US is a gross understatement.  In 2017, suicide claimed the lives of 6,241 individuals between the ages of 15 and 24.  That alarming number does NOT even include the thousands upon thousands of young men and women that attempt suicide and survive to tell their story….  like Jay. 

Thank you, Jay, for being brave enough to so publicly share your painful story.  Please know how incredibly happy I am that you are HERE to advocate for others like yourself.

XO – Jennifer

Surviving Suicide & Finding Hope – Writer:  Jay W. 

My story starts when I was five years old on a warm July night.  My mom woke me up saying there was an accident, but that everything would be ok.  I was wrapped in my blanket and scooped up before being hurried into the car and taken to my Aunt’s house.  It was so late at night I remember just kind of dozing back off until daybreak.

It wasn’t long after waking up I realized that my uncle, Bryon Stevenson, had taken his life the evening prior.  I couldn’t comprehend at my young age, the thought of someone ending their own heartbeat.

I think about the darkness and the hopelessness that he must have felt.  The loneliness, or the heartbreak… the stress of not feeling good enough.

Fast forward ten years. It is almost a month before my 16th birthday.  In the years leading up, I’d been physically and mentally abused by a “man” who was supposed to, at the time, be my protector and my provider.  Most of what was provided were doses of being called “a little faggot,” and being choked out.

The “friends” I chose to hang with at school didn’t understand me in the slightest.  My mom was so busy and so stressed.  Most of my family didn’t see the signs of my depression and anxiety taking over due to my willingness to play the clown to get a smile, or a laugh… something I did in an attempt to put me back in touch with the goodness of humanity.  But I couldn’t feel it or find it for real.

After a few weeks of running the scenario in my head, I decided my family would be better off without me disappointing them with my mistakes.  One night I had gotten ahold of some benzodiazepines from an older friend who thought I was just trying to sell them for money.  I swallowed a couple handfuls of my concoction along with some of the nastiest vodka I had ever ingested.  I got into bed when I started to see my world start swirling together and I told myself, “it’s almost over.”  I laid back and wrapped myself in my blankets, with hopes of never waking up again. 

The next thing I remember is in fact waking up.... face down in more vomit then I knew any human could expel.  My bed, my floor, and my walls were covered in bloody vomit. 

Instead of knocking out and drowning in my own bile as planned, somehow, I ended up off my back and face down on my bedroom floor.  I remember being able to play it off like I’d caught a bad bug after cleaning an insane amount of the nastiest mess I had ever seen.  I told my mom what I thought was a solid lie and got myself into the clear. All the while thinking, “You’re such a screw up, you can’t even kill yourself right.”

The thought of taking my soul away from this place didn’t evade me.  Each moment at school, as well as when I spent time with friends and family, all I thought about was how they were burdened by my mere existence.

A few months later I decided it was time to try again.  Christmas night, 2002, I was clutching a brand-new pack or razorblades from the local grocery store I worked at.  I’d taken up self-mutilation as an attempt to alleviate some of my inner hatred, as well as an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism when it came to being depressed.

That night while my family slumbered away in their food comas, I sat on the floor of my room listening to some CDs I had gotten for the holiday as gifts.  I was writing a note for my little brothers and just soaking up the calm energy that was all about the place.  I opened the case of razor blades and put a small slit on the back of my ankle, the adrenaline always hyped me up from the rush of pain.

I flipped over my left arm with a fresh razor in my right, and placed it to my skin.  At that very moment a song called “Timberwolves in New Jersey” by Taking Back Sunday came out of my speakers.  I can’t explain it really, but I was hit with this insanely heavy brick of emotion.  Every face of my family and those few people I called friends rushed into my head.  The lyrics and the groove resonated inside my chest.  Before I knew it, I was a naked, sobbing, mess of a teenager, rocking on my bedroom floor, holding myself by my knees and just overwhelmed with a feeling that I hadn’t felt in probably 8 years.

Hope. I was filled with HOPE.

In one of my darkest hours, the cosmos reached down and shed me just enough light to see through to another path.  To this day, I still have no idea what exactly came over me or what compelled me to try to fight through another day.  Now, looking down at my child while they sleep, or reading messages from mixed up humans just trying to make it through each day, tells me the universe had something in store for me that I couldn’t comprehend at the time.

I’m not a religious man, but I have my spiritual/cosmic beliefs.  I truly feel like my purpose on this rock is to show others that no matter how hopeless, no matter how far down the rabbit hole you go, you can always make it back.

I live each day hoping that I can help my little ones learn more about loving others.  I try to spread a message of hope, acceptance, and togetherness through music.  I try to make everyone around me feel loved because so many of us feel truly worthless.  It took years of rebuilding, therapy, and support from real friends and family to get where I am now.  I would also be lying if I said that depression and anxiety aren’t still relevant in my life.  I am just lucky enough to have surrounded myself with a solid support system and I stay vocal about my struggles with folks I trust.  Not everyone has it that easy.  In fact, most suffer in silence, trying to make others happy while they die inside.

Look out for your friends and loved ones.  My support team and I do “homie check-ins” where we take turns messaging each other to see if there is anything we can do for one another. 

I now live my days to help some mixed up kid see that if they don’t succumb to the darkness, they can blind the world with their light. 

Thank you for allowing me to share a bit of my story and to try to bring awareness.  Thank you to anyone who reads my words and can find some inspiration or solace. 

-Jay W.

National Hotline for Suicide Prevention: 1-800-273-8255 or Text HELP to 741741

My Brushes With Suicide - Writer: Anonymous

It is my absolute privilege to be able to publish this on my blog. You guys, it is HARD to be this vulnerable. It is HARD to share your heart but it is SO NECESSARY!!!! I truly believe the only way we can change the stigma surrounding mental health and suicide is to TALK ABOUT IT. We have to normalize these conversations. We have create spaces where it feels SAFE to be HUMAN. My guest blogger wishes to remain anonymous and I respect that whole heartedly. My sincerest thank you to her for being brave enough to share her story.

XOXO - Jennifer

My Brushes WIth Suicide:

Unfortunately, I have had too many brushes with suicide.  All from a different angle. First, my husband suffers from depression.  Several years ago, he began to spiral downward. I finally got him to tell me that he had a “plan” to take his life.  I will never forget the feeling of taking him to the hospital and leaving him to stay in the “mental health” unit. I sat in my car and cried, knowing it was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. Even though he went willingly, it hurt my heart so much knowing how he was suffering and in so much pain.

As he recovered, with changes of medicine and counseling, he talked to me about his thoughts. When I asked him how he thought taking his life would affect his family, friends, and community, he told me that in that moment he wasn’t able to foresee any consequences.  All he could think about was getting rid of the pain he was feeling. With treatment, he began to return to his normal self. However, I had scars. I worried every time I was not with him. Would he come back or would it be the last time I would see him? Is he still taking his medicine? I could not get the scene that he described to me out of my mind.

To this day, I still worry. 

A few years later, his depression slowly crept back to the surface. Even though I’m sure it was gradual, it wasn’t until it was almost too late again to realize that something needed to be done. I tried to get him in to see doctors and mental health professionals, but either they were full and not taking patients, or they couldn’t get him in for several weeks. We didn’t have that much time.  I talked him into going to the Emergency Room to see if we could get a med change, knowing I would probably be leaving him there again. Sure enough, after evaluation, it was agreed that he should stay. However, there was no room for him at this hospital. He had to be transported over an hour away to another facility that was willing to take him. Again, watching him leave the hospital in a transport vehicle was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. 

What really bothers me was the thoughts running through my head. I was struggling myself to work, take care of my children, take care of my own mental health, and I was somewhat angry by thinking “what about me?” I knew this was selfish, but I was frustrated. I also felt guilty because I remember actually thinking that if he was really in that much pain, maybe he would be better off being at peace. I never thought I could feel that way, but when you see your loved one suffering so much, you just want them to feel relief and free of pain.  I live with the guilt everyday of feeling this way and knowing it’s not the answer. However, in some strange way, I can understand.

This past year my children experienced the pain of losing a classmate to suicide.  Oh how it hurts to watch your children grieve. I could see so vividly in my mind them sitting together the night before.  I remember driving my child and dropping him off at his friend’s house to play video games. For one of my boys it was his first loss of a friend and for the other it was the second, only to bring back memories of that horrible car accident.  Besides not being able to answer that dreaded question “Why?” it was so difficult as a parent because my teenagers wanted to be with their friends. I just wanted to hold them and say everything would be alright, but they wanted to gather with their friends to grieve.  However, it was when 50-60 kids came together in the gymnasium of an old school, now a church, at their own will, to talk and cry and laugh, that I knew they were surrounded by the love of friends. The parents stood on the perimeter, grieving ourselves, but knowing that we would all pull together and find a way to move on.

Now I sit here with the vision of my brother after he felt he could go on no more.  I can’t get his face out of my head. How long does that last? When will I stop the constant reel of pictures going in my mind and be able to focus on the rest of my life?  The flowers, the Facebook posts, the hugs, the condolences. Don’t get me wrong, all are greatly appreciated, but I really just want my brother back. His funeral was so beautiful and such a tribute to him. 

Here is what I think is making me struggle. My brother and I lost our father in Vietnam. We both only have pictures to remember him by. My brother had gotten in touch with some of his buddies from Vietnam and they had adopted him as their own, in honor of our father.  He was my connection to my father. He would tell me stories from the guys of the good, the bad, and the ugly about our father. After the funeral I was able to visit with a few of these men. We talked about my brother and they shared about my dad and his experiences in Vietnam.  As I write this, it becomes more clear that maybe I am not only grieving for my brother, but for my father as well. As I was only six months old when he died, I don’t think I have truly ever had the opportunity to do that. I’m not angry with my brother, but I do feel robbed of all the opportunities and stories that I will not get to share with him.  Thankfully, we had been able to visit the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington DC together quite a few years back. I know that he and my father are probably up there fishing right now and I pray that he is at peace.  

Suicide has affected my life in many ways; as a wife, a parent, and a sibling.  We need to push for better mental health care! We also need to erase the stigma that it’s not something to talk about.  These people need to know that others care about them, no matter what! Look at all the support that people with cancer receive.  There is nothing wrong with that, but if we came together for people with mental health issues with the same amount of support, maybe we would be able to pull them out of their depths and could celebrate with them a new outlook on life.

National Hotline for Suicide Prevention - 1-800-273-8255

The Flock

Let’s talk about our beautiful logo that so many of you are now proudly sporting around with your JBR apparel and merchandise!  My brother, Chad, designed it with a goose simply because Jamie loved geese and he loved hunting.  I loved the logo at first sight.  When I look at it, I see Jamie.  It is SO him. Chad really nailed it when he designed it.

But I want to tell you another story…  something that I think about often but have never shared with you.  Clear back in February when I was still waiting on the IRS to grant us our 501(c)(3) status I was working a deal with a company called Thumbies.  Thumbies is a company that takes the thumbprint of your loved one and turns it into a beautiful keepsake.  I knew almost from conception that I wanted to include the Thumbies product in one of our Outreach Programs though I wasn’t sure to what capacity they would be willing to participate.  Much to my surprise, Thumbies not only chose to participate but to partner directly with The JBR Foundation!!

Thumbies has endorsed The JBR Foundation with funeral homes in and around Southeast Iowa and West Central Illinois.  When a participating funeral home takes in a family as a result of suicide loss they will put the family in touch with our foundation.  If the descendant has left behind a child or sibling under the age of 18, The JBR Foundation will provide the child(ren) with a Thumbie of their loved one.  To some that may not sound like much, but I can tell you from experience that it is a precious gift and it brings a lot of comfort and promotes healing to have that little piece of your loved one to carry with you throughout your grief journey. My Thumbie is pictured around my neck in the photo below. That pendant is Jamie’s thumbprint.

So, what does all this have to do with our logo????  When I was working the deal with Thumbies and trying to land that partnership I communicated back and forth many times with a Graphic Designer/Marketing Specialist named Michael.  In one of our many emails back and forth Michael wrote me this: “On a personal note, let me say how sorry I am for the loss you and your family are experiencing. I am also pleased to note the use of a goose as part of the Foundation identity. Geese are remarkable creatures on a level most people don’t know about. They exhibit strong flock traits by always staying together. When traveling great distances, they never fly faster than the slowest member can go, and they routinely trade the lead position (the one that requires the greatest effort) during flight so that as one leader needs rest another steps up to take over. All traits that serve families in crisis exceedingly well. That seems like a very nice analogy for your foundation”. 

I mean, cue the tears now!!!  Am I right or am I right?  I am positive that Michael hasn’t thought even one single time about that email since the day he sent it, but I sure have.  I go back and I read it often. He saw our logo for so much more than even we initially did, and his analogy is SPOT ON.  It is exactly how we have survived the last 16 months and 18 days. 

If you are experiencing a time of tragedy and a time of great grief in your life too, I hope that you will find comfort in those around you and let others lead you when you can’t seem to find your own strength.

I thank God every single day for “our flock”. 

You are loved. You are worthy. Your life here matters. You are someone’s Jamie.

XOXO - Jennifer

P.S. Go check out Thumbies at www.thumbies.com! We are proud to be partnered with them!!

Pictured - Thumbies Classic Pendant in Sterling Silver

If Not Now, When?

Hey friends!  This isn’t my typical blog post.  It isn’t directly about Jamie, yet it has everything to do with Jamie.  Confusing?  I know, right?  Just stick with me until the end and I will try to make sense of that.    

Most of you know by now that I recently resigned from my job at TEMP Associates after 14 years.  It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made.  I used to love my job with everything that I had.  I loved my customers and I loved serving them for so many years.  I am not afraid to say that I was good at my job either.  I was very good at my job.  Unfortunately, though, as I have already written about in so many of my other blog posts, my life changed dramatically the day that my brother died by suicide.  Everything changed, including my feelings about the job that once brought me so much joy.  Jamie died on April 3rd and I went back to work on April 12th, just nine days later.  I knew just pulling into my parking spot that morning, that my future was no longer inside that building.  I just didn’t know how or when I would ever find the courage to leave. 

Any good grief counselor, therapist, or psychiatrist will tell you that you should wait one full year after a traumatic life experience to make any life altering decisions.  So, I did exactly that.  I waited.  Miserably.  I’ve never felt so stuck in my entire life.  Day in and day out my mind wandered for 9 hours a day as I sat behind my desk.  Thinking about my brother consumed me.  I felt called to tell his story through my blog and as months went by, I felt an even stronger calling to start a foundation in his name.  But who the hell quits a career of 14 years to start a non-profit unpaid?  I mean, seriously?  Who does that?  Sure as shit not this girl!  Nope.  I have always lived my life by the book and much too responsibly to ever be that crazy.  But you know what?  I’m not that girl anymore.  Jamie’s decision to leave us changed absolutely everything inside of me and as the one-year anniversary of his suicide approached I knew it was time to make a choice.  I could either sit there at my desk and continue to live a miserable and unfulfilling life or I could throw caution to the wind and resign to chase this “thing” that I was feeling called to do.   

People ask me all the time what I am doing now?  Well, I am working my tail off to fulfill a dream called The JBR Foundation.  Did I ever think that I would end up where I am right now?  Hell no.  But here I am.  And, guess what?  I am scared shitless, my friends!  I am scared that I don’t have what it takes to lead a non-profit.  I am fully aware that I don’t know jack crap about starting a foundation!!  So, I have been researching a lot and I have been visiting with others that do have experience with non-profits to learn as much as possible from their successes.  Quite frankly, I am just jumping the hell in and hoping for the best! 

I have also been reading more.  I love Rachel Hollis.  I mean, I FREAKING LOVE HER.  I have read her books and I follow her and her husband, Dave, on social media.  I tune into their morning book club on FB Live from time to time too.  A recent Live was hosted by Dave and he talked about a chapter on failure in Rachel’s newest book.  You guys, I tend to be overly dramatic from time to time, but I am 92.73% sure he was speaking DIRECTLY TO ME!!!!!!  It was so good that I feel like it would be incredibly selfish of me to not share it with you too.  (Disclaimer, if you aren’t into the idea of growth mindset then this blog post might not be for you).

Rachel and Dave talk about the fear of failure.  They say it is one of the top reasons that you don’t pursue the dreams of your heart.  To that, I say, AMEN.  Basically, the idea is that failure is the roadmap to success.  If you are currently doing something in your life that is so safe it doesn’t give you the opportunity to fail and to fall, then how can you expect to grow?  It is the lessons we learn when we fall that allow us to learn and to grow into a better, bigger version of ourselves.  Dave said, “The bottom line is if you are currently in a position where you don’t find yourself stepping into something that is less certain, stepping into something that pushes your comfort zone, stepping into something that makes you a little uncomfortable because it is new terrain, you will not grow”.  He went on to encourage me (and the other 2,000 listeners that were tuned in) to ask myself if I was interested in a life of fulfillment or a life of feeling stuck?  Ummmm, hello friends!!!!  I sat at my desk every single day for an entire year after my brother’s suicide asking myself that very thing!!!!  HOW did Dave know that??  He went on to explain that the only way that you are going to get from where you are to where you hope to be is to get comfortable with the possibility that failure is for you and not an indictment of you and that failure happens to you so that you can become who you were meant to.  “You must start with the mindset that says I am going to be fueled by the learning that comes from failing.  I am going to pursue the possibility of failing because that is where growing comes from”. 

Rachel writes in her book about the fear of failure coming from a few different things.  First, the fear of what other people think.  Well, duh?!  Right?  Of course, I fear being judged by other people!  Don’t we all?  Or is that just me?  Dave so wisely pointed this out.  “Successful people aren’t going to judge you for failure because they know that their failures helped them to get to where they wanted to be.  The only people who are going to be critical of your taking a chance and trying to do something new are the people that are on a path behind you.  They are the ones that are going to be critical of you because they are jealous of the fact that they aren’t reaching for it themselves.  Only the insecure people in your life will feel entitled to judge you.  Why would you give weight to people who are not trying to have as full, rich, or impactful of a life as yours?  WHY?  IF they don’t embody the kind of life you are trying to have, the kind of life you want your children to grow up into, why would you give them weight?  Let it go.  You don’t need that in your life.  It isn’t serving you!  Their opinion doesn’t matter”!  Yes, yes, yesssss!!!!!  Preach Dave, Preach!  (Insert high five here, please)! 

Second, Rachel says the fear of failure comes from the perception that it is going to be too hard.  Let’s just state the obvious here, yeah, it’s going to be hard! But as Dave pointed out, life is hard, my friends!  Maybe you think your job is hard.  Maybe you think parenting is hard.  Maybe you think being married is hard.  Maybe you think being a good friend is hard.  So, if it’s going to be hard anyways then why wouldn’t you find something to do that might actually light your heart on fire even if it’s going to be hard?  I loved this next notion.  He said we get to choose whether life is hard because life is happening to us or we can choose if life is hard because life is happening for us.  We get to take ownership of the hard things that happen to us in life.  We can choose to take them and make them a part of our story instead of letting them be a reason that we are drowning underneath all the things that life will inevitably throw our way.  Umm..  correct me if I am wrong, but I swear I just said that in one of my recent writings?!?!  I said I could coward to this great loss and tragedy in our lives and go down the same dark path of depression and self-destruction that Jamie traveled OR I could own his story for him and try to make something exceptionally good come from his life, and yes, even from his suicide.  HOW DOES DAVE KNOW THESE THINGS ABOUT ME?!?!  I told you he was speaking directly to me! 

Third, Dave talked about the fear of being found out; found out for not being an expert on this “thing” that you are chasing.  Well, hell no, I am not an expert.  I have never started a non-profit before, so why the heck would I ever claim to be an expert?  I am the first to admit that I have NO idea what I am doing!  But, really, it’s more about the fear of letting other people drain me from believing in myself.  It is, after all, such a departure from everything that they know me to be.  So, it’s up to me whose opinion is worthy, and it is up to me to not let them take my power or to let them keep me from living out my full potential. 

A few other things he touched on that spoke to me personally:  self-sabotage and perfectionism.  So often we self-sabotage our dreams.  We too often stay in the safe place we have been in for years because yes, we are afraid of failure, but also because we worry more about what everyone else deserves than what we deserve.  BINGO!  I fretted for MONTHS about how resigning from my job would affect the owners of my company, my customers, and most of all my co-worker (who also happens to be my best friend).  I made myself sick over it until finally I realized that I was self-sabotaging.  I was the only one that was keeping myself from having the opportunity to grow into this new version of who it is I was feeling called to be!  When you hold yourself back to please others, when you sacrifice who you want to be in order to make other people happy, that is self-sabotage, my friends! 

Perfectionism.  (Insert long sigh here). I have always said that I am a perfectionist.  It is both a blessing and a curse.  It has served me well in life and it has also hurt me greatly in life to be such a perfectionist.  Gahhh!  I truly wish I could be less of a perfectionist and believe me, so does my family!  I would nag them a whole lot less if I wasn’t!  Dave talked about how perfectionism is paralyzing.  Perfectionists will rationalize reasons to wait to chase that “thing” they are dreaming of until they think the timing and the circumstances around it will be “just perfect”, so perfect that they can’t fail.  Again, how did Dave know this about me????  I kept telling my husband and my best friend (my co-worker) that I would just wait until I hit my 15-year anniversary with the company to quit my job.  I kept saying to them, “If I can just make it to that 15-year milestone with the company, I will quit then”.  Huh?  What the hell purpose did I think making it to that milestone was really going to serve me?  I honestly have NO idea.  But you can seriously ask either one of them.  They heard me trying to rationalize my timing for months on end.  Here’s the thing.  There is no such thing as perfect timing.  Perfect doesn’t exist.  That 15-year milestone I was so close to holding off for is another freaking year away!!  Who the hell knows if I will even be here a year from now?  Tomorrow isn’t promised for any of us, my friends.  Dave and Rachel say, “If not now, when”?  It is so true!  IF NOT NOW, WHEN?  “If you aren’t going to live your life now…  when will you”?

That’s where Jamie enters the picture.  If there is anything that I have learned from his suicide it is that I refuse to live my life unhappy from here on out.  I refuse to compromise for anything or anyone.  Does that make me selfish?  Hell no.  And if you think so, then quite honestly, that’s your problem, not mine.  I, for one, think that Jamie would give me a hug, kiss me on the forehead, and say “Hell Yeah, Baby Girl”! And then just because he had no boundaries what-so-ever and because he loved to push the limits with me, he would probably give me a little smack on the ass for good measure and say “Go Get ‘Em, Sis”. Then he would laugh his contagious little laugh as I scolded him for smacking my ass at the ages of 37 and 40! (Insert eye roll here). By the way, if you are reading this and you knew Jamie then you know that you can picture that exact scene playing out!!! He was a piece of work.

You guys, I would be lying if I said I haven’t had a lot of “oh shit” moments in the last month because I have.  Do I regret quitting my job?  Hell no.  But that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared.  I am.  I am scared that maybe a year from now I will regret it.  I am afraid of failing at this big, huge, scary, crazy ass idea I came up with to start a non-profit.  I am scared that I won’t be able to bring all the ideas and dreams I have dancing around in my heart to life.  I am afraid of failing in front of an audience that I have single handedly created.  But you know what?  My kids are in that audience.  They are watching me.  And, even if this does fail, I still win because my kids will grow up knowing what it means to be brave enough to risk failure in order to chase their dreams. They will grow up understanding that unfortunate things will inevitably happen to them in their lives, but those bad things don’t have to dictate their lives. 

Failure is a vehicle for growth.  I’ve got my seatbelt on, my friends, and I am ready to roll.  If you are resisting doing whatever “thing” you dream of doing, then I hope you find the courage to get in the driver’s seat too.  Life is short.  People are going to judge you no matter what you do.  So, you might as well let them judge you while you chase that big fat dream of yours. 

IF NOT NOW, WHEN?? 

XO – Jennifer

National Hotline for Suicide Prevention:  1-800-273-8255 or Text HELP to 741741