And so it begins again. This time with a different child.

Five loud raps on the front door, and the baying of the hounds. Something seemed wrong, but I couldn’t tell if I was awake or dreaming the whole thing. I heard his voice, arguing with someone. What is going on I thought as I dragged myself out of bed and towards the door.

The police were here, my son pleading with them he was fine and they should leave. He saw that I was up and became angry they woke me up. What is going on? Why are the police here in the middle of the night? The officer said they were here for a welfare check on my son. Someone called to tell them my son was planning on ending it all that very night. Alex was arguing he was fine and didn’t want their help. I ran to the bedroom to wake up my husband.

He wasn’t fine, my son. He was drunk and suicidal. I took him aside in another room as my husband spoke with the police. He told them he would stay with our son. We spent the next hour and a half listening. My son said he couldn’t do it anymore, live. He spent most the night curled up on the floor sobbing.

He was scaring his friends. Getting drunk and walking in the middle of the road at night. Wanting to borrow a gun. Talking about death and loneliness. They didn’t know what to do. Some contacted us, someone called the police, and most just walked away. I went to bed. My husband stayed up all night. Alex fought and made it through the night but missed his work meeting in the morning.

I had a restless night’s sleep and got up for work like usual the next morning. I didn’t tell anyone or talk about it because these kind of illnesses no one brings a casserole for. He was embarrassed and ashamed of his fight with the demons no one else can see on the inside outside.

Through this we suffer alone together.

He lost his job last week. Fired.

We long for the best and fear for the rest.

I hope he can hear our offerings over his cries for help.