Making the Call

Why in the world would I take the physical chemistry lab my sophomore year?

That’s the thought that came up as I trudged through another lab report at Pita Pit. Something about chemical engineering doesn’t lend itself to enjoying college. The best years of my life? Please…

BUZZ 

The percussive rattle of my phone against the table broke my concentration. Shifting along the laminated surface, the phone sounded off five more times in quick succession, probably due to lengthy text split into smaller ones.

I flipped my phone over and saw they came from Austin, an acquaintance of mine. Eager for a distraction, I unlocked my phone and opened my messages.

“…would’ve committed suicide…”

Those three words punched me in the gut with a recognizable force. I’d seen similar ones before—words that came from a tortured mind. I can’t even remember the rest of the text. I just knew that I needed to call this guy.

I stepped outside to make the call and spoke to him for about an hour. Actually, it was more that I listened to him. Triggers don’t have to be life changing; it’s what follows that becomes frightening.

He eventually asked if he could stay with me for a couple of days, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Once I okayed it with my roommate he came over, and I was relieved to see him in person. Even though I didn’t know him that well, some part of me rejoiced at this idea of welcoming back someone from the unthinkable. He was just glad to feel that someone understood. The next couple of days passed with minimal concern. Because of our incongruent schedules, I didn’t see much of him. At least I knew he was around. I felt that he was safe around me.

He eventually decided he wanted to share his story with his Bible study group on Thursday and asked if I’d come to support him. I agreed, but when Thursday rolled around, I hadn’t seen him at my house. An hour before his group was supposed to meet, I decided to give him a call. Straight to voicemail. I swallowed any assumptions and went ahead to the Bible study to see he might be there. He wasn’t, but they told me where I could find him.

“The emergency room.”

If before words had punched me in the stomach, they now shattered the earth underneath my feet. The text I received at the beginning of the week was a flag for help, and this felt like it was the beginning of an obituary. What happened? Could I have done anything more? Had I really lost him?

I could barely handle those questions alone. I needed normalcy. With a sense of urgency that nearly paralyzed me, I drove over to where friend was, and she helped me think clearly enough to figure out whom to call.

We finally had an answer. He had checked himself in. He had taken the initiative to protect himself. The relief was the type you feel after waking up from a nightmare—a nightmare that leaves you with no breath and a pounding heart.

When I visited him in the hospital, I saw how he interacted with his parents. Whatever I had felt would never compare to what they had gone through. They were now forced to discuss what had previously remained in the dark. Healing began, but it would take some time.

I continued to check in on him, but I learned to give him space. As much as I wanted to help, I needed to give him time to decide what he needed. That’s tough, and yet, it was the right thing to do. I never could put myself in his shoes like he could.

We still stay in touch, and he’s doing better now. Knowing Austin has taught me a lot about looking out for others. What strikes me about this stuff is how easily unnoticed it is. Austin’s text came with an overwhelming sense of shock. Even if I knew him better beforehand, would I have had the insight to know what was going on? Maybe not. Having that type of foresight is difficult. It’s the very reason I remind myself to ask how others are doing. However, it’s a question that seeks more than “Good. Fine. Not too bad.” It’s a question that functions as a sign of compassion rather than a salutation.

Because of Austin, I try ask how life is going for others. He reminds me some might need help but lack the way to ask for it. His experience tells me that sometimes the best we can offer each other is compassion through a simple, important question:

“How are you?”

-OU Student