He became an organ donor. He saved many lives. So in the process, there was something that my family and I could hold on to.
We definitely need to bring more awareness to this, especially in the African-American community, where there's still such a big stigma.
Educated at Morehouse College, groomed by Coca-Cola International, and named a fellow at Johns Hopkins University, this proud black man was on his way to success. There was only one obstacle—a quickly engulfing depression.
Oddly enough, the most important thing I learned from this man was the power of believing, but it wasn't just me.
Warren was a full-blooded Scot, raised down in South England in a little town called New Romney. My family thought I'd lost my mind, but I was going to take him home.
I laid down on the couch praying God would be with Warren and would bring him safely home to me. I suddenly felt something rip from within my soul and I jumped up running down the street before I realized what I was doing.
Learning about PTSD and learning to call myself a Vietnam War widow has helped me to understand that my experience is not unique.
I have learned, for example, that I was not alone in being excluded from what Daniel was going though.
It was our 36th wedding anniversary. That morning, as usual, Bill brought me my cup of coffee in bed. I can’t remember anything after that exceptwhen I got home at 7 p.m. Bill’s car was in the garage, but the house was pitch black.
People asked me what I wanted to tell everyone. "The truth" is all I said. We can’t help remove the stigma of suicide if we don’t talk about it.