A moment of seriousness before I catch up

When I was younger, ten or eleven years old, my cousin committed suicide. He was in his early twenties, still living with his mother, in constant pain from a back injury and feeling sorry for himself. He left a note for his mother, took a bottle full of pills, and died before she got home from work. His name was Zoltan. He was the one person on my father's side of the family who was consistently nice to me. I adored him. His suicide crushed me in more ways than I can describe, and still affects me to this day, mostly because of the sheer selfishness and stupidity involved in it. His was a cry for help that went unanswered.
In my first year of teaching, one of my students, despondent over a fight with his girlfriend and angry at his father, put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. His cry for help also went unanswered. The people who should have recognized what was going on didn't.
Every day, thousands of people make that same cry for help. Every day, their cries are answered by the crisis counselors at the Hopeline. This year they celebrate their tenth anniversary of helping people and saving lives, and the government wants to take them over.


If you can spare it, please make a donation to the Hopeline. If you can't, just pimp them out. Spread the word to others who can, so that their work can continue.
Thank you.
XOXO
L