Being There

‘Dad. I can’t face school today; I need to talk to you.’

The call was from one of my teenage sons, struggling with life. After arranging to meet at the railway station, I left work and began the 20-minute walk there. With his admission of suicidal thoughts fresh in my memory, I walked—desperately hoping that he would get on the train, not in front of it.

My stomach churned. I wanted to run, but getting there early doesn’t make the train arrive any sooner. I texted, hoping for an answer but knowing not getting a reply didn’t mean anything. He’s a teenage boy, I’m Dad. There are plenty more people ahead in the reply priority line before me. No reply came to comfort my walk.

It did give me time to reflect on my own teenage years, though. They were also marked by struggling with constant and overwhelming ideas of suicide. Clearly, I made it through, but it was close. I was fortunate to have found ways to cope with the stress, and to have been surrounded by a loving family and supportive church community. While they didn’t know exactly what I was going through, they painted a picture of hope when I couldn’t visualise it myself.

Despite all the good things I had, I still found myself losing the battle to control my thoughts. Despite my faith and service to God, life got harder and darker. I was worried enough to talk to my doctor about whether this was normal and if there was anything that could be done. I began a long walk of my own, through doctors, diagnoses, medication and therapy.

During my worst times, I clung to a single Bible verse—which was sometimes about all I could handle—‘A bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out’ (Isaiah 42:3a). It gave me hope that those at the edge are allowed to be there, because it isn’t the end of the story. God loves restoring; life and health can be found again—even from the very worst places.

Arriving at the railway station I searched the crowds disembarking, for that familiar face. There he was, my son—headphones on, head down, but alive.

Time slowed down to a stop as we sat and munched our way through McDonald’s burgers, chatting about life and those things close to the surface. Something my own father often did through my tumultuous teenage years—I’m not sure I ever spoke much during those times—but he showed up. He spoke up. And kept painting pictures of a future I could not yet see.

It is a terrifying thing to see someone you love struggle and to feel powerless to assist. Words seem a limp weapon against the steely foe of mental torment. Was this normal teenage angst or a fullblown mental health crisis for my son? It didn’t matter to me, I wasn’t prepared to roll the dice with his life. I made time to be there, because others made time for me.

We do not have to face life alone. Sometimes we need others to protect us from breaking, and breathe life into those faint sparks of life.