How I Learned to Text . . . and Call the Suicide Hotline

This is my old phone. I got it in 2003, after my previous one (of a similar model) went kaput in the middle of a phone call. I'm reluctant to change technology because I feel as if I could be doing something better with my time than learning which new buttons to push. So I didn't upgrade until 2013. This was a workhorse of a phone, and I keep it for a lot of reasons.

One thing it was NOT particularly good for was texting. Clunky and slow. So I swore I'd never learn to text. No use for it. Waste of time, yeah, yeah, yeah, rinse, repeat. Drove a couple of my friends nuts.

Then on December 20, 2005, just before 2:00pm, I received this text:

Thank u please  do 

not give up on me 

love your brother 

chuck  depressed 

lonely

I ignored it. I thought it was one of my friends pranking me. Then, sixteen minutes later, I get this one:

I cannot do this 

alone I am 

homeless angie 

I want to die 

please help 

me

This time I checked the number. It was a Kentucky area code. I completely panicked. I had no idea how to respond. I dug out my book, and I figured it out. I sent back:

Don't give up! You have the wrong number. Let me help you. I typed in my number, and asked him to call me. Instead, I got another text:

Thank you 
whoever my family 
has given up on 
me im 25 and about 
to die sorry 
my sisters 
number is XXXX 
allways chuck d-------

Oh, dear Lord in heaven! What do I do?  His sister's number was one digit different from mine. Did I call her?

Instead, I called the suicide hotline. I read the texts to the terrific woman who answered, and she thought he might be serious. She gave me the number for the suicide hotline in Kentucky. I hung up and I sent him the number. I begged him to call them, to not give up. To call, really CALL the number, then his sister.

Silence. Then, twenty minutes later:

Have nothing left 

no one to talk to my 

alcoholism has driven 

everyone away 

can I get those 

numbers again 

sorry to bother

I sent him the numbers again. Once again I pleaded for him not to give into this urge.

I never heard from him again. I have no idea what the outcome was. I have to trust that he called the number, that his texts were a sign he wanted help. I can trust and hope. This year, Chuck would be 34, and I dearly pray he's somewhere safe, with family around him.

And, yes, I've saved those texts for almost a decade. They weren't normal texts to be read and discarded.

Over the course of 90 minutes, just before Christmas 2005, I learned to text out of pure desperation. And I've avoided the word "never" ever since. After all, saying, "I won't," is a serious chance for God to say, "Oh, really? Oh, my dear child...."

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PS: The list of suicide hotlines is here. If you know someone who could use one of them, please share.