My mom’s dad took his life when I was a little girl. John Harker. But we really just call him Johnny. And with today being Nation Suicide Prevention Day and tomorrow is Johnny’s birthday, it really got me thinking of him.

I remember the night we got the call. We were living in our house with the basement on Harris Street, and we were all in McKay’s room. Mom was sitting cross legged on his bed on the jean bed spread blanket she made him when the phone rang. She was happy to hear Fran on the other end, her face dropped, she put her hand to her mouth and started sobbing.

Johnny was the only son in his family. He divorced my grandma when my mom was only five, and my mom and her siblings were legally adopted by my Grandpa Adams. So Johnny is the last Harker and the name died with him.

When I was in high school my family went to Canada to go to a family reunion. My grandparents are from neighboring teeny tiny towns, Raymond and McGrath, in Alberta. That’s when I met my Harker family for the first time. Or least my extended family. And I just felt like these are my people. It felt like home with them. I always wanted to name a son John after him, but with the last name Johnson it just didn’t work out. So when I found out Johnny has an uncle named Levi, it made me love the name even more.

My Levi boy

The older I get the more my heart hurts that he chose to leave early. He has four kids, fifteen grandkids, fourteen great-grandkids and three more on the way. I wish my babies and Marc could meet him. I wish I could still see him once a year when he would come to town and spoil everyone and take us out to dinner.

He was an amazing producer and workaholic that was well recognized and loved. He smiled with his eyes and had a grin that just made you happy.

I know first-hand that depression and anxiety are real. And I have felt the overwhelming, heavy, dark numbness it can bring. Sinking, terrifying, broken feeling that feels like you will never be whole or really even okay ever again. I remember sitting at church around the New Year and the teacher was asking everyone to write down resolutions. And I could only stare at my blank notecard and try to not just silently sob in my seat. And it made me so angry. I am Miss Goal Oriented, passionate, lover of self help and improvement. And I had nothing. “Goals” were at that moment beyond comprehension. Numb and blank, trying not to loose it.

I would never hurt myself. But I did from time to time have to remind myself how dysfunctional Marc’s family has struggled since Jen passed away. How awful it is to watch children grieve. I never NEVER want to do that to my children or Marc. Or my family at large.

Going on an anti-depressant was a game changer in my life. And I was so scared. I was afraid it might change my personality or numb who I am. Which ironic, because that how I already felt. I was afraid of the stigma that comes with anti-depressants. They are for broken people. Majority of my life I had my positive pants on and up with sunshine in my pocket, and somehow being on medication made my positivity fake or a lie. That I was a fraud.

That is a lie. Getting help does not make me weak, it is strong. Acknowledging and talking about my pain instead of silently shoving it away, allowed it to start to heal. My meds took out my low low days. And made it possible for me to process and recognize when I was starting to go to a dark place and then be able to stop before it got out of control.

Life is hard but worth being here for. The joy is found in small moments and that is what I try to zero in on. When I go to bed, I try to relive my day and watch the gems again. Happy birthday Johnny.