News broke on Saturday evening that Minnesota Vikings wide receiver Rondale Moore has passed away from what is suspected to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Moore is just the latest tragedy in a world where men too often are hesitant to admit they need help to address the struggles they are going through.
While everyone’s
story is different, and I cannot begin to know what Rondale Moore was going through in the moments leading up to the decision he made, I can say this with certainty—everybody’s pain is real. Your pain is real. My pain is real, and what you are going through—whether it be depression, anger, hopelessness, or something else—your feelings are real.
The biggest Kansas City Chiefs fan I’ve ever known
His name was Aaron. He had a goofy, infectious smile and a tender heart that just wanted to love people. Shortly after high school, Aaron enlisted in the Marines. He would go on to serve multiple combat tours in Iraq, where he was exposed to things the human body and mind are simply not designed to process.
The result was that Aaron returned from serving his country with PTSD that included episodes of psychosis and paranoia, and as he was going through all of this, he was still the kindest guy you have ever met. Sadly, my friend’s battle and his search for peace ended on May 15th, 2018, in the same manner as Moore’s.
Aaron went to every Chiefs game he could, and it’s not lost on me that by passing away, he missed out on experiencing the golden age of Chiefs football by a mere matter of months. Aaron loved the Chiefs through so much bad football and so many heartbreaks that to this day, it just doesn’t feel right that he wasn’t there to watch the franchise hoist three Lombardi trophies in the time that he has been gone.
But that’s the thing about the choices we make today, they are often clouded and prevent us from seeing the possibilities of tomorrow.
Shortly after Aaron graduated from high school, I was at a party in the parking lot of the high school that a bunch of my friends graduated from—I was in the passenger seat of my friend’s car, when Aaron walked up and knocked on my window, so I rolled it down. I hadn’t seen him in a while, so I asked him what he had been up to, and he told me he had enlisted in the Marines.
I can still remember the look in his eyes. He was so proud to be serving his country. And if I could go back to that moment, I would jump out of that car and hug him, and hold him down until he agreed not to go to basic training. Not because I don’t respect our soldiers and the sacrifices they make, but because I’m selfish and I love my friend more.
Not everyone who is hurting has PTSD from being in a combat zone.
The honest truth
I had an immediate family member attempt to take their own life. And despite writing for Arrowhead Pride and getting to cover my childhood team — covering two Super Bowl victories — co-hosting the postgame show, writing stories for you guys every week, being married to my beautiful wife and having perfect little boys, the truth is, by the time my second son was born, I was in shambles.
I was exhausted, depressed and sad. I was really, really sad, and I thought dangerously little of myself daily.
There was just one beam of light keeping me present. I told myself that I would push through the dark thoughts for my kids. I would wait until they were grown and didn’t need me anymore. But regardless, in my head, I always thought that when the time came, my life would end by my own hand.
Then I realized something.
There was never going to be a time when my boys did not need me. You are never old enough to lose a parent. So I had to change my plan. I have to live for as long as my kids need me, which means I have to live forever (or as close to it as possible).
Going on like I was before was a non-starter — it was too hard, and too painful.
And then I read a quote by the writer Charlie Macksey from his book, “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse, \“and it said:
“What is the bravest thing you’ve ever said? asked the boy.
‘Help,’ said the horse.
‘Asking for help isn’t giving up,’ said the horse. ‘It’s refusing to give up.”
That’s when it made sense in my head. Asking for help isn’t giving up. It’s not a weakness. It’s the opposite. It’s being strong enough and brave enough to admit that I’m not strong enough — not on my own.
There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my sons — including asking for help when I needed it.
So I got a therapist, and I started talking through all the things that made me feel broken inside, and as the months passed, something happened — eventually, I wasn’t seeking help anymore just because my boys deserved it. I was taking care of myself because I deserved it. I am worth saving (and so are the wild takes I publish on this website).
You are worth saving, also.
You are not alone. You are not weak.
You are loved. You matter.
And you have the strength in you to ask for help if you need it.
Help is available if you or someone you love is thinking of harming themselves.
988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline
Languages: English, Spanish
Hours: 24/7
