No One Has a Copyright on Connection

It has been too many years. Too many years since I was sitting in a conference room with the rest of the leadership team from my district and I started to hear voices. Started to hear murmurs. Started to look to see where they were coming from when the clarity hit me.

A young football player had died.

By suicide.

From a neighboring district.

From my kids’ district.

From my kids’ school.

As the words pierced me from across the room, I looked down to my phone and I had missed calls, missed messages. As fast as I could I looked for a name and then as I saw my son’s name, I opened the text.

Mom, Zac died.

Zac. He had been one of my fourth graders.

He was younger than my two oldest sons but still in their world. Still in ours. His younger brother played basketball with our youngest and Zac was there on Saturday mornings helping. But now. Gone.

It has been almost 7 years since that morning. Seven.

Seven used to matter to me.

Seven seconds.

I helped build an organization after Zac died. A non profit on a mission to end loneliness and therefore prevent more moments like these. Only seven seconds to connect with someone, to let them know they matter. That was the promise.

It was all I thought it took.

As a mom, an educator, a coach, an advocate, a Sun Devil I set out to make a difference. We had a simple mission, to create a world without loneliness. I built a curriculum for schools. We were making an impact.

And even though we were not a suicide prevention curriculum, we had developed content that we thought could help.

And it mattered.

It mattered because at this very moment there are people in our communities that are lonely, that are still taking their own lives.

We knew then what I still know today–each of us can build more connections. Each of us can create places where people feel seen, loved, and cared for.

And each of us can also create disconnection.

It happened to me. I left Only7Seconds because they were going in one direction and I was going in another. That is the clean version. The truer version is that even work built around connection can become complicated by human relationships, hurt, silence, disappointment, and change.

I still teach about suicide prevention, I still show up with Only7Seconds wristbands and I still share the message. But I haven’t heard from anyone at the organization in months because even when we matter, human relationships are hard.

So today, on World Suicide Prevention Day, make a choice. Make a connection. Not just for yourself, but because the person on the other end of it probably needs it, too.

Send the text.
Ask the better question.
Call the person you keep meaning to call.
Notice the kid who has gone quiet.
Stay with the friend who says something hard.
Care more about the person in front of you than about getting the moment exactly right.

Because you matter.
I matter.
Zac mattered.

And no one has a copyright on connection.