Sunday, September 21, 2008
Sports, "Hunt's Grunts"
A Birthday Wish
On the day Suicide Prevention Week began earlier this month, Tennessee Titans quarterback Vince Young was booed by his hometown fans...
By Hunt Archbold
On the day Suicide Prevention Week began earlier this month, Tennessee Titans quarterback Vince Young was booed by his hometown fans for sub-par play, and later suffered a knee injury that prevented him from finishing his team’s season-opening game. The next day, the team called local police authorities to help locate Young after his therapist told Tennessee coach Jeff Fisher that a distraught Young had mentioned suicide several times before speeding away from his home with a gun. Turns out he was at a friend’s house watching TV, and a few days later Young laughed off the incident, blaming his mother for overreacting and the media for making too much of nothing.
But the question lingers: Why would a multi-million-dollar athlete attempt suicide? Then again, why does anyone attempt suicide? More than 1.1 million people worldwide die by suicide each year, and many more make suicide attempts. And the idea of self-termination enters the thought process of even more. Maybe even you? I know for nearly the last two-and-a-half decades, it has seeped into my mind like poison more than once.
The day after Young brushed off reports that he was contemplating taking his life, the acclaimed author David Foster Wallace hanged himself, leaving the literary world in shock. He was 46. The next day, in the early morning hours of what would be the concluding day of Suicide Prevention Week, a young friend of mine in her early 20s called me, hysterically crying over the recent rash of senseless deaths of several of her peers, including a pair by way of suicide. She moaned into the phone how she, too, no longer wanted to live.
Last week, Dallas wide receiver Terrell Owens moved into second place on the NFL’s all-time list for career touchdown receptions. The achievement came less than two years after Owens was rushed by ambulance to an emergency room in what was detailed in police reports as attempted “suicide by prescription pain medication.” The fact is, everyone—young or old, famous or not—suffers through events that could possibly lead to depression. And if people don’t take action and recognize that it’s not a weakness to ask for help, the consequences can be tragic, even for those left behind.
My best friend growing up, since my earliest school days and through high school, was a super-cool fella named Nelson. He was extremely creative and a very talented artist. Like me, he had a silly sense of humor, but he also possessed a sharp wit, and he was an intelligent guy. He loved the outdoors, had a good work ethic and loved the good old U.S. of A. I would tease him that with his thick head of full, brown hair, he was destined to be an international hair model. He didn’t like that very much.
If Nelson were alive today, he would be 42 years old this week. I imagine that he would be married with kids, working in some creative field, or possibly something that would allow him to work with his hands outdoors. He would own some land in the country, and whether he lived there full-time or not, he would spend a great amount of time there with his family and friends. And he would love his nephew, who now shares his name and is growing up to be a fine young man, just like his uncle.
Fifteen years ago, Houston Oilers defensive tackle Jeff Alm was driving home from dinner with his best friend when he lost control of his car on a freeway exit ramp. His best friend was thrown from the car and killed. Minutes later, in an apparent fit of guilt and despair, Alm took a shotgun from his car and killed himself. I’m not sure I would’ve done the same, but then again, I know there wasn’t a gun in the car when Nelson took his last breath in my arms on the side of the Florida Turnpike nearly 23 years ago. Moments earlier, I had awoken from falling asleep at the steering wheel as the two of us were returning from a road trip. But it was too late to prevent the vehicle from flipping multiple times. I have never publicly written about this and I am trembling as I do so now.
A part of me died that night. And there have been numerous days and nights since that I have wanted to die completely. I still have nightmares. I still have moments where I sob uncontrollably. I still ask God, why him and not me? But I also got help, and found healing in kind souls who listened and counseled. Yes, I have thought about suicide, but no, I have never seriously considered it. Because life is a precious gift that needs to be embraced with joy and servitude, and to not do so would not honor my best friend. I pray and believe it’s what he wants from me.
Happy times...and happy birthday, Nelson Kinloch McMillen.
SP