I Ran a 5k Last Saturday

TW: Su***de

This was my day 31 entry for my 40-day “one sentence a day” journal during Lent this year.
The aftermath was difficult for my family, especially my mother.

Last Saturday, I ran a 5K in honor of a family who lost their son the same way 12 years ago.

I initially thought about writing a post about grief, mental health, and the evidence-backed ways we are told to promote positive mental health. But I am not sure I have much to add to that conversation.
Therapy. Physical activity. A healthy diet. Medication when necessary. A solid support system. Prayer, if you are a person of faith.

The problem is that sometimes people do all of those things and still hurt.

My grandfather did. Or at least, he had many of the things we are told should help. A lot of my mom’s “inheritance” was basically a health guru starter pack. A home gym set. A blender. Even one of those reverse osmosis water bottle thingies. Yoga mats. Ankle weights.
Bibles. Prayer notes. A Facebook page full of mentions of God, Jesus, prayer, and faith.

He had healthy habits, faith, and family. He lived in California and had people who loved him.

And his body was still riddled with chronic ailments that he had to manage. Pills. Doctor’s appointments. The lasting effects of military service.

I keep turning these facts over in my head, looking for the missing variable. The thing that would make the equation make sense. Something that would explain why a man who seemed to be approaching the natural end of his life decided to take matters into his own hands.

I have not found it.

Maybe that is the part of mental health we do not talk about enough. Sometimes there is no satisfying “why.”

As I walk down memory lane, I think about other moments when I have tried to understand the decisions we make when our minds become places we no longer feel safe living in.

Like the women in my family who live with functional depression. The anger. The isolation. The endless search for something to distract from what they are actually feeling.

Like myself and my peers in school who hated nearly everything about our lives. Our appearance. Our living situations. Our social position. The version of ourselves we believed everyone else could see.

Like someone I love who struggles to believe they are worthy of the good things life has to offer.

None of us fit neatly into a checklist. And neither did my grandfather.

If you came here expecting a post about my 5K training, I can tell you that my average pace was 12:02. I would be happy to tell you more about the run.

But the run was never really the point.

I chose to run with the Kellin Foundation because of what they are doing for mental health and for families affected by suicide.

“Shea’s Chase has become a 5K Run/Walk where community members can honor the memories of loved ones who have struggled with mental health and completed suicide.”

That matters to me. And even though I didn’t know my grandfather well- I ran in his memory. But even now he is still here. In the car parked in our driveway that hasn’t moved in months. In the laptop I’m currently typing on. In my mom’s Kool-Aid smile and her kind blue eyes.

Supporting people when their own minds become one of their biggest enemies changes the way you move through the world.You become more aware of how fragile being human actually is. You are more empathetic to how quickly bad days and weeks turn into bad seasons.
You stop assuming that because someone is functioning, they are okay.
And maybe most importantly, you stop believing that suffering always looks like suffering.

So you give grace.

People want to feel safe. Loved. Supported. Desired. Valued. Seen. Okay.
Sometimes we can give them those things.
Sometimes we cannot fix what hurts.
But we can make sure they do not have to carry it alone.

So yes, I ran a 5K last Saturday.
But what I really want to say is this:
We may never get every answer to the question of why someone chose to leave.
But we can do more to make sure the people still here know that they are worth staying for.

If you would like to support the Kellin Foundation’s work, you can donate here: [donation link]

If you or someone you know is struggling or thinking about suicide, call or text 988 in the United States and Canada for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If there is immediate danger, call emergency services.