Listen & Love

"It doesn't matter what you say, I'm killing myself as soon as I get out of the hospital."

I look into his dark blue eyes at a loss for words. His eyes are watery and bloodshot. Every few seconds another tear slides down his cheeks. My heart sinks as I absorb his deep emotional pain.

He's in police custody for public intoxication and moments ago tried to hang himself by tying his shirt to the sink faucet. Fortunately, one of the jailers noticed and got to him before he lost consciousness.

Now I sit with him in the back of the ambulance as we head to the hospital so he can be medically cleared. He squeezes his eyes closed so tight that creases form in the corners and more tears are forced out, soaking his eyelashes.

What can I say to this 29-year-old man? Although I am not the one who arrested him, I'm wearing the same uniform and it's my handcuffs locked onto his right hand and secured to the gurney. He likely doesn't view me as someone who actually cares. Honestly, why should he? I was dispatched to ride to the hospital with him while he remains in custody, not ease his mental and emotional stress.

Regardless, I do care. I pursued this career path to bring light to darkness. A reason that has proved much harder than I expected. I once had a family member tell me the only reason they did not commit suicide years ago was because they did not want to place that burden on me. So my heart strings are definitely activated when I interact with people in sorrow.

I look silently at the young man as he quietly whimpers. His shoulders bounce up and down ever so slightly as he holds back the urge to sob uncontrollably.

His statement is so certain and articulates very simply what his intentions are when we let him go. I decide encouraging and hope-filled words will seem trivial and be interpreted as the thing people say when they don't know what to say.

In the gentlest way possible, I ask, "Do you mind if I ask what you're going through?"

After several long seconds he looks up at me as if to evaluate my intentions. Then another several seconds pass before he begins to speak. His voice is shaky as he tells me his nine year old daughter died and now his wife has left him.

I can feel my heart beat faster and sink lower as I empathetically put myself in his shoes.

He shares some more details before returning to his first words...

"So you see? That's why it doesn't matter what you say, I'm going to kill myself when I get out of here."

About this time we are moved from the ambulance to a room at the hospital. Soon enough though, we are alone again. The distraught man looks down to my right hip and asks me to shoot him. A new idea begins to form in his distraught mind. His eyebrows raise as he comments that if he attacked me I'd have no choice but to shoot him.

I don't like the direction the conversation is heading and I tell him that would be heartbreaking for me because, "Even though I don't know you, I care about you and believe your life matters. You are valuable and your life is precious. I hope you would not put me in that situation."

He looks down and nods, seemingly acknowledging this is not a fair option for how he should end his life. Then the conversation swings into a totally different direction that I have almost come to expect when the possibility of death is at the forefront.

"Do you believe in God?"

My mind races because this is a tricky question to answer. I do not know the life experiences this man has endured. Any baggage he associates with whatever I believe could solidify his decision to harm himself or rule out any consolation I may offer. I decide I must be as brief as possible so I can love him and meet him in the place he is currently. I reply simply, "Yes, do you?"

This question opened him up. He talked about growing up in church, but kind of running astray for the last decade. He expressed fears of not knowing how God feels about suicide. He shared good moments from church upbringing and bad ones that made him question his faith. He voiced his confusion on why God lets terrible things happen. He praised certain family members that really lived out their beliefs.

I did very little talking. I gave him my full attention and simply listened.

A couple hours later the doctor came in and said he was clear and ready to go back to jail.

"I know I'm just a cop that you really don't know, but I want you to know that I care about you and if you ever need to talk, I will be here for you." I gave him my personal phone number, which I do not do!

As I uncuffed him from the gurney and secured both hands behind his back, he said something I will never forget...

"I appreciate you talking with me. I have decided to not take my life. I will keep trying to move forward. Thank you."