Don’t go there, your life matters

The passing of Jamey Rootes, who served as the president of the Houston Texans for 20 years, hit me pretty hard.

I’ve only met him a couple of times, one of which was in 2020 when he gave me an autographed copy of his book “The Winning Game Plan” to review. I frequently passed by him on the sidelines while I was photographing Texans games. I doubt he would have remembered my name, but most people in the organization recognize me as the photographer with the cowboy hat.

When Rootes took his life on Sunday, Aug. 21, I was shocked, as were most people. It was akin to Robin Williams committing suicide. You’d never suspect that someone who seemed so happy, content, and confident would be harboring suicidal thoughts. Every time I saw Rootes he was smiling, upbeat, and positive. His book oozed his passion and enthusiasm. He was a man clearly living the dream.

What really brought it home for me was the fact that my brother has been heavy on my heart this week. Tomorrow (Aug. 26) would have been his 56th birthday. He took his life Jan. 1, 2021. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t feel the pain of his loss or the fondness of his memory.

I can’t say that I fully understand why people suffer in silence and then abruptly end their suffering, but then again, I do understand it. For many years I suffered with moderate to severe depression. I was never to the point of wanting to end my life, but I did have several bouts where I no longer wanted to live. And yes, there is a difference.

I know what it’s like to feel so lost and hopeless that you just want your misery to end. I know what it feels like to grudgingly trudge through the motions of each day unable to feel any positive emotion at all. I spent more than 12 years not feeling joy, peace, love, happiness, contentment, excitement, euphoria, etc. Oh, there would be brief moments when those feelings would surface, but they were quickly quashed and the darkness would return.

I overcame my depression through Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) treatments two years ago. That’s the happy ending to my story. Unfortunately, the treatment is not well known, very expensive, and only has a 75% success rate. My point is, there is hope. The light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train. There are many ways to battle depression. TMS is what worked for me.

The one thing that kept me from tipping over from not wanting to live to wanting to die was love. I couldn’t bear the thought of the trauma my death would cause my family. I may not have been able to feel love, but I loved them too much to make them suffer that way. I’ve never told anyone that before, so it might come as a surprise when they read this.

Love is powerful and should never be underestimated. As the Bible tells us in 1 Corinthians 13:13, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” One of my favorite quotes is from the late Rocky Mountain News columnist John Coit: “Life is short and it hurts. Love is the only drug that works.”

Today I feel love. Perhaps that’s what makes these losses to suicide so painful. It’s been said that suicide doesn’t end the pain, it just transfers it. As I scroll through my Facebook feed, I see a huge outpouring of love for Jamey Rootes. He made an enormously positive impact not only on the Texans and the city of Houston, but in every aspect of life that he touched. We still need his fire to burn brightly. Now we must carry the torch without him.

I know there are some who are reading this and mentally and emotionally they’re in that dark, foreboding place. Trust me when I say there is hope. There is love. There is a future and world that needs you. If you find yourself on that threshold, call 988, the suicide prevention hotline. Call a friend. Pray. You are not alone. Your life has meaning and value and it’s meant to be shared with all those around you.

Joe Southern is the managing editor of the Wharton Journal-Spectator and the East Bernard Express. He can be reached at news@journal-spectator.com.