I’ve had the privilege to have mentored a handful of engineers in my career.  I grew fond and protective of them.  They are all extended family.  Naturally, they were all different.  Some needed insight into how to debug a particular problem.  Others asked about the history of a particular component and why it behaved the way it did.  I rank designing components with them among the most fun and rewarding activities.

Engineers consistently learn best by ‘doing’.  As I mentored them, I instructed them to feel free bang their heads against the wall for a while; solving that puzzle will both best commit it to memory and boost their self-confidence.  However, we also set healthy boundaries for how long they may struggle with that puzzle.  I advised them to come get me if they had not made any progress for a while.  We set our rule of thumb to two hours.

Naturally, I didn’t know the answer to every question.  In those cases, we would collaborate and think through the issue together.  Occasionally, we’d even consult with yet another engineer who may be more familiar with that particular problem.  I’d often joke that I’m merely the first node on that linked list.

More than engineering

On my last team at Microsoft, we conducted regular stand-up meetings.  Each participant took turns and discussed our tasks and how they were progressing.  If any of us went off track, we’d be able to make corrections.  During one such meeting, as I brought up one particular task, I simply spoke up, “I’ve never done this and don’t know how, is any one able to teach me?”  One teammate immediately spoke up, and I coordinated with him for later that day.

However, that wasn’t the most surprising element of that exchange.  Shortly after that meeting, another teammate walks into my office.  She discreetly thanks me for openly asking for help.  That gratitude felt genuine, but it perplexed me.  She continued, “if a twenty-five plus year veteran of the company can admit that they don’t know something and openly asks for help, it makes it much easier for those who are more junior.”  I smiled and understood, but I still didn’t believe my behavior was exceptional.

In short, it’s more than just engineering; life itself is difficult.  Though more importantly, it is a team sport.  Much like that two-hour rule of thumb above, understand that you can and should feel empowered to ask for help.  There’s no shame in it.

Mentoring of another kind

A few years after moving to Washington, a friend approached me with a proposition.  She knew of a boy of twelve, the son of a single mom, who encountered some struggles.  She asked if I would spend time with him, becoming his big brother of sorts.  Having grown up without a father, I agreed.  I was only in my mid-twenties at the time and didn’t quite understand what I had gotten myself into.

I spent many days with him, though mostly weekend afternoons.  We’d talk about what we were each doing, and our opinions about different topics.  He continued through life, with the occasional hiccup.  Some obstacles were self-imposed, but others were not.  Still, he graduated from college and landed a job at Boeing.

On one evening he calls me.  He tells me that he had just proposed, and she accepted.  He was floating.  I attended his wedding in Central Florida, it was almost a fairy tale wedding.  The once boy of twelve had made good.  I no longer worried about him.

On a weekday evening months later, my friend who introduced us calls me.  This boy, now twenty-five, died by suicide.  It was less than a year since his wedding.

Is it now too late?

That fateful phone call occurred in 2007.  I often think about my conversations with him and contemplate what I might’ve done differently.  Did I ever tell him that he could call for help?  On those moments where I openly expressed distaste for his shenanigans, did I shut that door?  As I lived my substantially less adventurous life, did I manage to alienate him?

As the years pass, you remember them a little less frequently.  Your life and setting have naturally changed, and there are fewer events that trigger memories.  Birthdays pass each October.  They are hard at first, though eventually the wound heals and scars.  Suddenly, you realize that he would’ve been in his forties by now.  That seems impossible.

As the stark finality of this event hit, we rationalized that it’s now too late.  He is gone, and no amount of activity will bring him back.  It was easy to let myself off the hook.  It’s not as if it could happen again.

Until it happens again

On an otherwise ordinary Thursday morning, we are called into a team meeting.  It was vaguely named something like “Team Update”.  I expected a potential re-organization meeting; maybe we’ll substantially change the way in which we do some tasks.  Having attended such meetings, they were similarly titled something cryptic.  I was wrong; they delivered the news quickly.  A member of our team suddenly and unexpectedly died.  A number of us were visibly distressed, me included.  We adjourned the meeting early, allowing us to cope in the most appropriate way.  They didn’t mention how he died, just that he died.

He was talented and quietly confident.  I had a handful of conversations with him as we each discussed our projects.  He is precisely the type with which I enjoy working, and I looked forward to that opportunity.  Though truthfully, I didn’t know him well, save for a few disjointed facts.  As the days pass and we chat more discreetly and in more intimate numbers, we ask about not just the what happened, but the how it happened.  And after some directions, I finally found it.  I found the post that simply describes the incident as ‘self-inflicted’.  He too was twenty-five.

Since I barely knew him, I won’t pretend that I might have helped him through this.  I have no reason to believe he would’ve reached out to me when he was troubled.  There were others with whom he was closer; they didn’t anticipate this.  I could think of nothing that I might have done differently.

The definition of insanity

Many assert that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over again and expect a different result.  Therefore, our conducting our lives precisely the same way will inevitably lead to the same results.  That is, these young men will die by suicide; to expect otherwise is profoundly naïve.

Fuck that.  Something needs to change.

I accept the finality of their deaths; I understand that I cannot bring them back.  However, I can talk the next loved one off that ledge, or better yet, keep them off that ledge entirely.  I’m not naïve; I know I won’t reach everyone.  Someone will tragically evade my radar or slip through my fingers.  I choose to be haunted for not doing enough, over not doing anything.

For instance, as long as we have drinking and have driving, we will have drunk driving.  Each drunk driving accident is tragic, but we can minimize this as much as we possibly can.  Similarly, let’s minimize suicides as much as possible.

Mental health is health.

How we collectively think about mental health is starting to change.  Thanks to people like Michael Phelps, Simone Biles, and Kevin Love, we understand that mental health is as important.  We accept that athletes may miss events for injuries like a pulled hamstring; are we as forgiving about mental health issues?  I applaud shows like Ted Lasso, who brought the issue front and center.  Had he instead suffered a stroke on the field, rendering him incapable of coaching, would there have been as much stigma as a panic attack?

We can be the instrument of change.  We can remove the stigma by talking about it and treating it like any other physical ailments.  Our hearts shattered when we watched Damar Hamlin collapse on the field.  Few will ever truly understand what Hamlin endured, but we empathized.  Are we as empathetic about depression?  About panic attacks?  About ‘the twisties’?  We can change this one case and one conversation at a time.

While Phelps, Biles, Love, and even Ted Lasso are still our heroes, they shouldn’t be our heroes despite their struggles.  They should be our heroes, at least in part, because they had the courage to speak this truth.  That next person may be your child, sibling, spouse, or parent.  How we empathize with them may literally save their lives.

Articulate that it’s okay to ask for help.

In many ways, this is simply an extension of my mentoring days.  Life, like engineering, is a team sport.  Let them know that you don’t expect them to navigate everything on their own.  They can absolutely deal with some obstacles by themselves but set some healthy boundaries.  Remember that two-hour rule of thumb?  What does that look like for their mental wellbeing?

Remind your loved ones that it’s okay to ask for help; there’s no shame in it.  The best way to demonstrate this is to ask for help yourself, much like I did on that day during our stand-up meeting.  This needs to be genuine; you should absolutely be comfortable asking for help.  I think Brené Brown crystalized this in one of her talks:

And when we assign value to needing help… when I think less of myself for needing help… Whether you’re conscious of it or not, when you offer help to someone, you think less of them too.

You cannot judge yourself for needing help and not judge others for needing your help.

And much like my mentoring days, your struggles become my struggles.  I may not have the answers, but we’ll figure it out together.

For instance, I may not suffer from dyslexia, but I can listen and empathize.  We can find viable workarounds to minimize its impact.  With some adjustments, we can hopefully dial it down from a large obstacle to a manageable inconvenience.  And with some luck and perseverance, we can similarly make depression more manageable.

Honoring those we’ve lost.

I have lived long enough to have lost loved ones.  I can talk about respiratory arrest, strokes, heart attacks, cancer, etc.  Those conversations are sad, and even delicate.  However, we can still celebrate their lives.  I can fondly recollect and tell stories of those incredible people and how they elevated my life.  Others will listen fondly and attentively.

The moment we mention ‘suicide’, it poisons the conversation.  It abruptly turns taboo, like looking directly at the sun.  Decades of fond memories are erased by one tragic moment.  Enough!  First, this betrays their memory.  My little brother was not defined by that instant; we can’t surgically erase him from history.  Second, by refusing to celebrate his life, we’re almost daring fate to do this again.

Many years ago, we disconnected my mom from life support as we donated her organs.  We hoped that her liver may give someone a renewed chance at life.  My hope is that hearing how my little brother tragically died and knowing that he is still loved and celebrated will inspire someone to seek help.  This may be for you or for your loved one.  My hope is that our love for them will be that ethereal organ transplant that gives someone else a renewed chance at life, but this can’t happen if we stay silent.

No more.