It came up simply. Last night, while I was bathing Harrison, the girls happened upon the first two minutes of the news. They’d of turned it off, if the words hadn’t of caught their attention. The words being, Denver Bronco player, Kenny McKinley found dead. It made them stop on the channel and pay attention. Then they heard the word that I’d hoped to not have to explain for a few more years. See Kenny McKinley, twenty-three years old, second year player, wide receiver for the Denver Broncos? He took his own life yesterday. He shot himself.

Suicide. Last night, at bedtime no less, I had to explain suicide to my six and eight year old daughters.

The explanation I used was basically this: Our feelings and our thoughts come from inside our brain. Sometimes peoples thoughts inside their brain get really sad and really sick. This can make them only see bad things. It can make them only feel the bad things. They may not even see that it’s sunny, if they are standing outside. Sometimes it makes them think things that are really mixed up and not quite right. Almost like their brain has a disease. Sometimes people think there isn’t anything they can do to feel better, that no one can help them, that they will never feel better again. So they decide to end their own life. They don’t understand in that moment that someone will help them, if they just ask.

Then we talked about all the ways to help make ourselves feel happy. All the people we talk to when we are sad. We laid in bed and named all the people who we could talk too, people who would help us, if any of us ever felt this way. We named things that made us each happy.

I felt like I was doing okay. Like I was making sense. That it was enough on their level of understanding, without lying or sugar coating it, nor scaring them to death. (Okay bad choice of word…but you get my meaning.)

Then Morgan asked if I’d ever known anyone who committed suicide. I closed my eyes for a moment, wanting to, I don’t know, get divine intervention on what to say or something. Yes. I had to tell her yes.

His name was Andrew.

It’s almost funny timing. Last week, was National Suicide Prevention Week. I had the note of that in my email all of last week. I wanted to write about Andrew, but I just never made myself do it. I guess now is time.

We’d been friends since Kindergarten. He was the life of the party. The ADD, class clown, do anything, try anything once or maybe twice, friend. I don’t have many childhood memories that don’t include him.

We didn’t know anything was wrong. Maybe there were signs. Maybe we missed them. But back then, at nineteen years old? We were probably a little dense. Whatever it was, he hid it well. There were six of us who were best friends. We did everything together. None of us knew. Looking back, I think we all saw things that were a bit off. Yet, each of those things, on their own, weren’t big signs.

February, 1999. One morning, he left the dorm room he shared with our friend Chris. He said to Chris, hey man, BBall tonight, right? Chris said yes. He though Andrew was going to class. He didn’t. He went to his childhood home. Took his dad’s gun. Went into his bedroom and shot himself. He left no note. He left no reason. No understanding. There were no drugs in his system and no sign that a single thing was wrong with him. One day he was there, the next gone.

His parents were shattered. When his dad died a few years back, his mom said, he just never got over loosing Andrew. His little brother was crushed. He is a Navy man now. A strong man. A caring man. A good son and husband and a great dad to a little girl named Drew. A man his big brother would have been very proud of.

We were crushed. Me, Logan and our friends. It’s not something that you ever really get over. Not something you can forget. Each day, for the rest of my life, I will wonder if I could have saved him. If there was one thing I could do different in my life, that would be the thing. I’d go back and save him.

Last night, I told my girls about Andrew. I told them a few funny stories. Then I told them the truth. I owed it to them, to know the truth. I owed it to Andrew.  He deserves to be remembered. His story needs to be told. Maybe it will only help one person see that suicide isn’t the answer. That there are people out there who will help, if given the chance. That some day, two little girls may hear a story about a person lost forever and wonder why. Two little girls not even born when that person was alive.Two little girls who will say, I wish I could have met him. I wish I could have helped him.

Suicide isn’t the way. There is help. Even if no one you know will help, there is always the Suicide Prevention Hot-line there, waiting to help. Willing to talk. Available with helpful resources. Their info is HERE.

My heart goes out to Kenny McKinley and his entire family today.

To Andrew Kevin McConnell, I hope wherever you are buddy, you are at peace.