A Lighthouse in the Storm: Empowering Parents to Find Their Way Through Teen Struggles
Maddie in Prince Edward Island, Canada. 2014
Everyone has their own personal reasons for sharing their story, especially when it comes from a place of pain. It’s simple: I don’t want another family to go through what mine has endured. I’ve seen what unchecked mental health challenges can do, and if by sharing my experiences I can spare even one person from that kind of loss, then I’ll keep telling our story.
But I won’t lie—retelling my story can be hard. Some days are tougher than others, especially on anniversaries or holidays that remind me of everything we lost. There are moments when its weight feels overwhelming. But more often than not, sharing helps me along my never-ending healing journey. It allows me to process the unresolved emotions that still linger and sometimes even brings a sense of peace. In many ways, it helps me feel more connected to Maddie, as I choose to honour the life she lived, not how she died.
Talking about depression and suicide is not easy. It’s a conversation many shy away from because it’s uncomfortable, raw, and often polarizing. I’ve seen it firsthand—people don’t always know how to react. I remember reading something by Leslie Weirich, an incredibly strong voice in suicide awareness, and I couldn’t help but laugh when she said, “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.” Leslie lost her son, Austin, to suicide and has turned that tragedy into a mission to speak up, particularly to the military, where suicide takes more lives than combat. Her transparency and resilience are qualities I deeply admire. I totally understand where she’s coming from.
Over the years, my tone has shifted. It used to be about just sharing our story—getting the pain out there, putting a voice to the struggle. But now, it’s about empowering parents, helping them navigate the treacherous waters of raising teens and young adults who might be struggling. I want to coach and guide them, offering hope and maybe even a little light in their darkest times.
It might seem a bit intense for those who aren’t dealing with these kinds of challenges—maybe they think, “This guy must be a lot of fun at a party!” And that’s fine. But for the parents who are struggling in silence, feeling like no one else can possibly understand what they’re going through, I want to be the lighthouse in their storm. I remember what it was like to feel so alone when we were going through this journey with Maddie. I wish we had more resources back then.
My story isn’t for the people who roll their eyes and think, “There he goes again, talking about his loss.” It’s for the parents who are dealing with their struggles in a vacuum, thinking no one can relate. It’s for those who need to hear that someone understands. I hear you. I see you.
And that’s why I keep sharing. When I wake up to private messages from strangers or even old friends who reach out because they don’t know where else to turn, it reaffirms why I do what I do. When a parent thanks me for giving them hope, for making them feel seen, I know it’s worth every moment of discomfort. I must get a dozen messages like that every week, and it tells me that this work is important, no matter what the naysayers might think.
The day the messages stop, maybe I’ll stop, too. But until then, I’m going to keep telling our story. I will keep showing up for the parents who feel lost, the kids who need help, and the families who need hope. My hope is that one day, there won’t be a need for people like me to share these stories. But until that day comes, I’m not going anywhere.
