When the Dream Isn’t Enough. Suicide Awareness

When the Dream Isn’t Enough, suicide awareness. A few months ago, I received news that shook me in a way I didn’t expect. A gentleman I had known had taken his own life. Even as I write those words, they feel heavy and surreal. Suicide is one of those tragedies that leaves a vacuum of answers, a sea of “whys,” and an ache that ripples far beyond the inner circle of family and friends.

As a friend of his, from everything I knew about him, he appeared to be a man who had built a life others might admire, perhaps even envy. He had been married for over three decades, a rare and beautiful thing in a world where lasting commitments can feel fragile. He had two wonderful sons, young men who, loved and respected their father. One following in the footsteps of his father’s career.

Materially, he seemed secure, even blessed. He owned not just one, but two homes: a primary residence and a beach house where the family could escape for long weekends or holidays. He and his wife traveled every year, taking vacations that might have been the highlight reel of any family’s scrapbook.

If you had glanced at his life from the outside, you might have thought he was living the American dream: marriage, family, financial security, the freedom to enjoy life’s pleasures. But obviously, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

And that’s where my mind has stayed, caught between what I thought I knew and the reality I’ll never fully understand.

The Questions That Linger

When someone dies by suicide, especially someone who seemed “fine” on the outside, it’s as if the mind can’t help but play detective. I find myself turning over questions like smooth stones in my hand:

Could something have been done to save him?

Were their signs that those closest to him might have missed?

Was his suffering long-standing, or did something in recent months push him over the edge?Did he try to reach out, and the signal just didn’t get through?

These questions have no clear answers, at least not ones I can find from my vantage point. And I’m not close enough or feel comfortable enough to his family to ask them. I wouldn’t want to intrude on their grief with my own curiosity, no matter how heartfelt. Their loss is too personal, too raw, for me to knock on their door with such heavy inquiries. So, I am left wondering. And I think a lot of us, when faced with a tragedy like this, are left in the same place.

The Illusion of Having It All

If there’s anything his passing has made me reflect on, it’s how deeply misleading appearances can be.

We live in a world that constantly projects images of “success” as the ultimate goal. A steady career. A nice house. Nice new vehicles. Family vacations. A long, happy marriage. These are the snapshots we see on social media, in holiday cards, in passing conversations. They paint a picture of a life well-lived.

But pictures are not the whole story.

The truth is, you can have every material comfort, every outward sign of stability, and still feel lost inside. You can be surrounded by people who love you and still feel painfully alone. You can check every box that society tells you to check and still feel like something is missing or worse, like something inside you is breaking.

That’s the thing about mental health struggles: they don’t always show themselves in obvious ways. Depression, anxiety, trauma, and hopelessness can all be masked behind smiles, accomplishments, and outward normalcy. And sometimes, the more someone feels pressure to “keep it together,” the better they become at hiding their pain.

The Unseen Battles

I will never know what he was carrying. Was it decades of hidden depression? Was it the slow erosion of purpose after retirement or career change? Was it an acute crisis, like financial stress, illness, or family conflict? Or was it something else entirely perhaps a wound invisible even to those who saw him every day?

What I do know is that there’s a limit to how much guessing can help. In the absence of facts, all we can do is turn our attention to what can be done for others who might be fighting silent battles right now.

That’s where my mind keeps landing: on the people still here, and the ways we can be present for them.

The Importance of Checking In

One lesson I take from this is that we cannot assume anyone is “okay” just because their life looks okay. We cannot let outward appearances convince us there’s no need to ask the deeper questions.

“How are you?” is a good start, but sometimes it needs to be more than that. Sometimes it needs to be:

“How are you, really?”

“What’s been on your mind lately?”

“Have you been feeling more pressure than usual?”

And then we have to listen not just to their words, but to the spaces between them. We have to make room for awkward silences, for the moments when someone hesitates before answering. Those pauses often carry truths that a quick “I’m fine” can hide.

It’s not about prying. It’s about offering a safe harbor, a place where someone knows they can let their guard down without fear of judgment or dismissal.

Breaking the Silence

The stigma surrounding mental health is slowly breaking, but it’s still there. Many people, especially men of older generations have been taught to “tough it out,” to avoid talking about feelings, to see vulnerability as weakness.

This cultural script is deadly.

We have to keep rewriting it. We have to normalize saying, “I’m not okay” without shame. We have to make it clear that seeking help whether through therapy, medication, support groups, or simply leaning on a friend is a sign of strength, not failure.

And for those of us on the outside, we have to be willing to have hard conversations, even when they feel uncomfortable.

Holding Space for What We Don’t Know

There’s a part of me that will always wish I had known more about what he was going through. I’m not sure if talking about my own experiences with depression could have helped. Or maybe just an ear for him to vent. But I also know that some battles are deeply private, and no amount of caring from the outside can force someone to open up before they’re ready.

That’s the hard truth: we can love people fiercely, check in often, and still lose them. And yet, that truth shouldn’t stop us from trying.

Because sometimes, the smallest gesture a phone call, a walk, a coffee date, an honest question can make all the difference. We may never know when we’ve pulled someone back from the edge simply by showing we care.

A Final Reflection

When I think of him now, I don’t just think of his death. I think of the life he lived: the decades-long marriage, the family vacations, the homes filled with laughter. I think of the fact that people are complex mosaics, beautiful and broken all at once.

His story is a sobering reminder that we can’t assume we know the full picture of someone’s life. It challenges me to look deeper, listen longer, and care more deliberately.

I can’t change what happened. But I can let it change me.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or visit 988lifeline.org. You matter. Your story matters. And there is help.