Fady El Dahdah He Was Only 15 – And His Family Loved Him. So Why Are We Losing Our Beautiful Children? I read today something that hasn't left my mind. It's stuck there like a knife I can't pull out. A 15‑year‑old boy. A good Christian family. Parents who are still together, who love him, who sit with him at the dinner table. A boy who, from the outside, had everything a kid is supposed to need. And he killed himself. I don't even know his name. But I've been walking around angry. Sad in a way that makes me want to punch a wall and cry at the same time. Because this doesn't make sense. It will never make sense. We tell ourselves that suicide happens to broken families. To kids with absent dads, or addicted parents, or no church in their lives. That's the lie we swallow to feel safe. "Not my child. Not our youth group. Not our nice, well‑kept neighborhood." But this boy shatters that lie. He came from a home that looked like the one you and I are trying so hard to build. And he still slipped away. So what the hell is going on? We teach our kids that God is enough. And He is – but not in the way we mean. We act like "enough" means depression should vanish if you just quote scripture. But that's not faith. That's pressure. And it crushes beautiful souls. I'm Angry I'm angry at the idea that a "good family" is a shield. Because it's not. A loving family can miss everything if love isn't paired with listening. How many parents are so busy providing – the house, the meals, the Christian school tuition – that they never sit in the dark with their teenager and say, "Tell me the stuff you're ashamed to feel"? I'm angry at social media, yes. But not just for the usual reasons. I'm angry because our kids are comparing their real, messy, painful insides to everyone else's curated happiness. And they're losing that battle every single day. But mostly I'm angry at us. At me. At the way we react when a child finally whispers, "I think I need help." We get scared. We say "don't talk like that." We drag them to the pastor instead of a counselor. We treat suicide thoughts like a sin instead of a symptom. And sometimes, by the time we get it right, it's too late. The Signs We Keep Missing I'm not a doctor. I'm just someone who's heartbroken. But I've read enough, and I've cried enough, to know that we are missing things that are right in front of us. If your child starts pulling away from things they used to love – even youth group. If their sleep changes wildly (sleeping all day or never sleeping). If they give away a favorite hoodie or a video game collection for no reason. If they say things like "you won't have to worry about me much longer" – even as a joke. Don't wait. Don't tell them they're being dramatic. Don't quote Romans 8:28 at them before you've held them. Just hold them. And say this: "I don't fully understand what you're feeling. But I'm not going anywhere. And we're going to find you real help – not just prayers, though we'll pray too. Real, actual help." To Every Parent Reading This You can have a house full of love and still have a child who is drowning. It's not your fault. But it is your responsibility to lean in. Lock up your guns and your medications. I don't care if you live in the safest neighborhood . Teen suicide is often impulsive – seven minutes from decision to action. Love them enough to take those seven minutes away. And please, please stop being afraid of therapy. A good Christian counselor is not a replacement for God. They are an answer to prayer. You wouldn't tell your diabetic child to just pray about their blood sugar. Don't do that to a child whose brain is telling them lies about death. A Letter to Churches Stop making depression feel like a lack of faith. Stop telling struggling teens to "rejoice always" as if joy is a switch you can flip. Start preaching that Elijah wanted to die. That Jonah begged God to kill him. That Job cursed the day he was born. These are your heroes. They were suicidal too. And God didn't abandon them – He sat with them in the ash heap. Train your youth leaders to recognize the warning signs. Not to play therapist, but to know when to pull a parent aside and say, "I'm worried about your son. He's not okay." And for God's sake, create spaces where a 15‑year‑old can say "I don't want to live anymore" without being immediately fixed with a Bible verse. Sometimes the most holy thing you can do is shut up and cry with them. What I Want You to Remember That boy – the one from the good Christian family – he wasn't a statistic. He was someone's son. Someone's friend. Someone who probably laughed at a meme two days before he died. Somewhere inside, he believed a terrible lie: that the world would be lighter without him in it. I'm still angry. I'm still sad. But I'm also tired of writing tearful Facebook posts after another young person dies. I want to write something that wakes us up. So here it is: Stop waiting for your child to come to you. They probably won't. Go to them. Tonight. Not tomorrow. Not after this meeting or this game. Ask them, "Are you really okay?" And then stay quiet. Let them talk – or not talk. Let them cry. Let them say the hard things without you flinching. And if you ever, ever hear the words "I want to die," don't panic into silence. Say these words instead: "Thank you for telling me. That's heavy. And we're going to carry it together. You are not a burden. You are my child. And we will find light again – even if right now all you can see is dark." That's what faith actually looks like. Not pretending the dark isn't there. But sitting in it with someone until their eyes adjust.

25 April 2026