It was September of 2015 when the first one reached the ears of the student body. I remember walking to my 9:30 AM class when a colleague walked up to me, tears in her eyes.
"Did you hear?"
She told me classes were cancelled. I felt brief thrill, but then she told me to check my email. A student took their own life. They were a year older than me.
Multiple emails sat joylessly in my inbox. One came from the president stating their death (a 'lost student' email was sent campus wide the night before), and one came from the vice president solidifying and reflecting on their cause of death. A resonating sentence in the latter's email read, "We can never know what is in another person's mind and heart at such a time, but our own hearts ache for [redacted student name]."
I also received an email from one of my professors, saying she would be in her office for the afternoon to talk, grieve in silence, or just give out hugs. Her and other professors' generosity knew no bounds; a small school fosters amazingly close relationships between faculty and students. But hugs only help in the short term. Hugs couldn't fix the confusion, anger, and sadness students felt. Hugs can't fix the chemical imbalance ravaging a brain.
A candlelight vigil was held that evening, with words from the president and tears from the victim's friends. My heart could only imagine. How do you begin to empathize in a situation like this? Well, you educate yourself on the severity of suicide, what it takes and how a person gets to that mindset. You listen to their loved ones. You listen to the pain they feel in their sunken soul, and if you're lucky, you listen to the victim's pain while their heart still beats.
Eventually, you move forward. Everyone does at their own pace, and what started as a rocky year for the university ended on a relatively smooth note. I finished my undergraduate career without reuniting with a fleet of similarly grievous emails, but it only took a few months for post-grad me to learn of the second one.
The second one also happened in the fall, four years later. They were on the swim team. Emails were sent to students and faculty yet again, and local newspaper the Newark Advocate headlined the story oh so eloquently.
The third one happened the day before I started this post. March 12th, 2019. The same academic year as the swimmer.
"Another" and "suicide" should never sit next to each other, but here we are.
It shouldn't fucking take three. It shouldn't take one.
A university who prides itself on promoting the all encompassing well being of its students should maintain a strong upkeep of its health facilities, not tuck a dingy health center away in the crevice of a quad that feels more akin to the general store in the Animal Crossing games than a facility where students can receive adequate health services and mental health resources. A friend of mine wasn't aware that the campus employed a resident psychiatrist until her junior year. I didn't either until she told me.
A university that honors Fresh Check Day, started by nonprofit the Jordan Porco Foundation to encourage dialogue on all things mental health, can't expect its one health building to effectively treat a student body of 2,300 and growing.
What's an alum like me to do? Even worse, what's an alum with little money to do? If I had Mike Eisner amounts of moolah, I'd send truckloads of cash and have the sides of the truck read, "FOR NEW HEALTH CENTER ONLY." I can't dictate where my $20.18 should go.
So obviously the number one answer is build a larger health center that can sufficiently hold more than 4 counselors so students don't have to wait weeks for their next appointment or even a SINGLE appointment. Construct the building in a location easily accessible for everyone that doesn't require anything more than a hike to reach.
I know of groups on campus whose goal is to open a space for students who feel they have no place to go, who want an open conversation about the mental health problems they face and what to do about them. A lovely and promising mission like that works as a solid first step, but students should not be expected to keep mental health a top priority when there's an entire university that has the money (maybe, hopefully, I can only assume) and resources to do so.
Campus goings-on CANNOT go back to the way they were because that would mean no one is paying attention and if no one pays attention, a fourth (God forbid, please God) could happen.
Change takes time, yes, I know. I'm aware. But we can't afford any more time. Action is the obvious answer, but it needs to come from those authority figures who can manifest policy into action.
My heart aches for those we lost, their families and loved ones, and my alma mater. It aches, but it's also exhausted. The words we need to move from this moment onwards are few and far between; action is the answer.