OPINION — On June 13, 2017, I lost my youngest son, Zachary, to suicide. He was 16 years old.
Zach was kind, funny and deeply compassionate. He was the kid who noticed when someone was sitting alone and chose to sit beside them so they wouldn’t feel invisible.
But when Zach began struggling with his own mental health, the people around him didn’t know how to help. His friends didn’t have the language to recognize what he was going through. Our family didn’t know about the life-saving resources that existed in Arizona. And Zach didn’t know how to ask for the help he deserved.
