Adam was my brother-in-blood and brother-in-arms. We grew up with a tense rivalry as children, which eventually blossomed into genuine friendship when we were stationed together with the First Marine Division. Both of us left our childhood homes, and the service, carrying different shades of C-PTSD. While I sought out and leaned into support systems—reaching out to fellow veterans, sharing with my wife, and finding solace in community—Adam’s struggle became a solitary one, isolated and silent.
This solitude led to a heartbreaking moment on February 10, 2014, when Adam made a final ‘goodbye’ call to our mother. Panicked by his words, I hurried to collect my things and raced to check on him, desperate to reach him in time. But before I could get there, I received a call that Adam was gone. My mother’s screams filled the background, overwhelming my thoughts as I tried to process the reality that I had just lost my older brother, my first friend, and a part of myself. The last words I sent to him were, ‘You just gotta keep pushing, and things will get better.’
I’ve kept those texts saved on a 12-year-old phone in my safe, because I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget that some cries for help can be as silent as a four-word text message: ‘Everything feels too hard.’
I still remember that day vividly — the shock of the news, the screams from my mom and grandmother and the confusion that followed. Dad was out of town, and my sister had to break the devastating news to him over the phone. I recall Dad coming home, embracing my mom and my siblings, struggling with the weight of our grief. I remember the day like it was yesterday — the overwhelming sense of loss when my big brother, someone I admired and thought had it all figured out, was suddenly gone.
For years, I’ve grappled with the haunting questions of whether I could have seen the hidden struggles or said something to change my brother’s mind, wishing I had known then what I know now. I feel guilty, and I know it is okay. It is okay to grieve. The pain of losing someone to suicide is something that never fully heals — it’s a wound you learn to live with, but it never truly closes. My brother’s death is a stark reminder that suicide is not just a personal tragedy — it’s a major public health concern that can affect everyone.
Suicide is an issue that has impacted me on a personal, professional, and community level. Two of my close family members have attempted suicide, which led to hospitalizations and inpatient psychiatric stays. This year, we lost two members of our Jefferson Center family to suicide and continue to process these losses, and the impact on our teams and on our community.
As a therapist, I have experienced the guilt and pain of losing a client to suicide, and the small farming community where I grew up has been rocked by multiple suicides over the years. I’ve made it a priority in my professional role to ensure that more of our staff ask clients if they’re having thoughts of suicide. This happens at every contact, because we can’t truly know if someone is struggling if we don’t ask. From our front desk staff, and pharmacy technicians, to our counselors and case managers, we’re paying attention and checking in.
I’ve committed to that action in my personal life, as well. If a friend or family member is going through a particularly hard time, I ask if they’ve been thinking about suicide. Even as a trained professional, it still feels uncomfortable sometimes, but I’d rather push through that discomfort than miss the opportunity to provide someone with hope and connection.
Unfortunately, our stories are not unique. These are the types of stories shared by so many people every day from all walks of life. None of us are immune to the impacts of suicide or feelings of isolation. Even as leaders in prominent organizations or as a community that is considered well-resourced, suicide affects us too. Jefferson County, Colorado’s unique blend of rural, suburban and urban communities can often contribute to unique stressors and challenges, which can sometimes feel overwhelming and impossible to navigate. We know firsthand how crucial it is to have support in place when someone is struggling, and our experiences remind us why our mission matters so much.
Suicide is a critical issue that demands immediate attention, resources and action. This means not only improving access to mental health services but also fostering a culture where people feel valued and supported, where reaching out for help is seen as a strength, not a weakness. No more families should endure the pain of losing someone they love to suicide.
Preventing suicide starts long before a crisis occurs. Silence is the enemy. We know that social connections are one of the strongest supports for mental health and preventing suicide. Having someone to turn to during difficult times can make all the difference. Whether you’re offering a listening ear, lending a supportive presence, learning more about how to help or spreading awareness, you’re contributing to a safer, more supportive community for everyone.
Through this, we know there is hope. By sharing our stories, advocating for mental health resources and standing by those who are struggling, we are making a difference. Let our stories, and the stories of so many others, be the catalyst for change that saves lives. Together, we can create a world where no one feels like they’re fighting their battles alone.
It starts with each one of us. And together, we’re stronger than we know.
You are not alone! If you or someone you know is struggling, remember that help is always available. Call or text 988 for immediate support from Colorado Crisis Services, available 24/7/365. Visit Jefferson Center’s website for more information and resources.
Maxwell Johnson is the Director of Clinic Services for The Jefferson County Public Health Department and an OEF combat veteran. With over 15 years of experience in healthcare and a Master of Science in Global Health from Northwestern University, he is a vocal advocate for suicide prevention and increased access to mental health services.
Amy Miller is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and the Director of Adult Outpatient Services at Jefferson Center for Mental Health. Amy has a broad range of experience in the fields of mental health and aging. In her current role, Amy provides programmatic oversight of Adult Outpatient Services, Senior Services, Mountain Services, Bilingual Services and Vocational Services at Jefferson Center. She also serves as part of the DEI Oversight Leadership Committee and the leader of Jefferson Center’s Zero Suicide initiative.
