Dad made breakfast, then I heard Mom scream.

It was a moment that felt like it couldn't be real. Seeing my dad lying unconscious, hooked up to machines in the intensive care unit was something I never could have imagined. With tears streaming down her face, my mom told me the devastating news. My dad had attempted to take his own life that morning. The doctors weren't sure if he was going to make it. It was a lot to take in, and my mom warned me that seeing him in such a state might be difficult for me.

I remember feeling numb and cold, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. My dad had always been the life of the party, the one who could make even the most mundane moments fun and exciting. He lived by the motto "work hard, play harder" and we often danced around the house or in the car on our way to school. He was always the first and last one on the dance floor at parties, bringing laughter and joy wherever he went. Some of my fondest memories were of him making my mom and I balance spoons on our noses at the dinner table, just for the fun of it.

My dad was also ambitious and successful, but he never let that get in the way of taking care of himself and his family. He stayed fit and we often participated in fun runs or went for jogs together. We even talked about running around the world together when I was older. He was the best dad anyone could ask for, always putting us first and loving us fiercely.

But on that Sunday morning in November 2008, everything changed. My dad knocked on my bedroom door and hugged me tightly, telling me how much he loved me. I giggled and hugged him back, feeling safe and loved. We joked about having our usual Sunday sausage sandwiches for breakfast, and he went to put them in the oven while I got comfortable on the sofa. But then my mom returned from her walk and couldn't find my dad. Moments later, I heard her scream and saw her run outside. I thought it was just because a little girl had fallen off her bike, but then my mom came back inside, sobbing and frantically pushing me into the annex with my nan.

The next few days were a blur. Our house was filled with police, an ambulance, and even a helicopter, while neighbors looked on in confusion. I kept asking if my dad was okay, but no one could give me a straight answer. My mom eventually left with a friend and I was left with my nan until my godparents arrived to take me to the hospital. It was there that my mom broke the news to me with a heart-wrenching look on her face- my dad might not make it.

I couldn't understand how or why this was happening. I prayed for my dad to wake up as I played our favorite songs by his bedside. But on Thursday, we had to make the difficult decision to turn off his life support. I held onto him as he grew cold, feeling completely devastated and lost.

I tried to return to school the next day, seeking some sense of normalcy, but I was completely lost. I couldn't understand why my dad, the first man I ever loved, chose to leave us. I shut down and developed dissociative behavior disorder, feeling disconnected from myself and the world around me. I had up to 20 attacks a day where I would pass out or be unable to communicate. I struggled with low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, and eventually bulimia, as I desperately tried to control the uncontrollable.

But I couldn't go on like that and thankfully, I reached out for help. I now manage my mental health through running and regular check-ins with my doctor, but the pain of losing my dad is something I carry with me every day.

Losing someone to suicide has a tremendous impact on families, yet 60 men are lost to it every hour globally. This is why the work of Movember is so important. We need to break the stigma surrounding men's mental health and create a safe space for them to open up about their struggles. By having honest conversations, we can prevent tragedies, support those who are struggling, and prevent other families from experiencing the loss that mine has endured.

My dad was full of life, but he struggled in ways we didn't understand. And while his loss has profoundly affected my life, it has also taught me the importance of checking in on those we love, even if they seem fine. I am dedicated to supporting families who have lost loved ones to suicide and raising awareness to reduce the stigma surrounding men's mental health.

As I look to the future, I carry my dad with me always. I am currently trying to complete the six world major marathons in his memory, and on November 3, I ran my second one, the NYC Marathon. It was an amazing experience, albeit bittersweet without my dad physically there to share it with me. But I know he was with me in spirit, and I am proud to have completed it in his memory. I will continue to carry him with me as I strive to complete all six marathons.

I also dedicate myself to keeping the conversation about men's health alive. When the men we love suffer, we suffer too. If you have a story you'd like to share, please reach out. And remember, it's okay to ask for help. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out for support. You are not alone.

[This article has been trending online recently and has been generated with AI. Your feed is customized.]
[Generative AI is experimental.]