Going through my normal evening routine of preparing supper for the family, I decided to play a classic country playlist on YouTube. It felt like I was punched in the gut when the song came on. The song he sung the night before he died. The song I lamented I hadn't heard all those years ago. Whiskey Lullaby. I was instantly drawn back to the barren desert of Iraq, instead of standing in my kitchen in the Southwest Desert of the U.S. I was reminded that there is no time limit on grief, or PTSD.
Then, there was the article on the rising rates of U.S. suicides. We aren't getting better at dealing with mental health issues; we are getting worse. Across all races; across all age groups; across both genders; across the country, Americans are taking their lives at higher rates than they have in nearly 80 years.
I don't have an answer. But I do know that help is available. I know that depression and suicidality can improve. I know that lives can be saved if we reach out.
U.S. Suicide Rates Are the Highest They've Been Since WWII