There comes a moment, even in the work we love most, when we have to be honest with ourselves. For me, that moment has come. Silver Threads has been a labor of love — a place where I’ve poured my heart, my story, and my hope for a world that sees one another more gently. But I’ve reached a point where I can’t do it all alone anymore.

Trigger Warning: This post contains raw descriptions of suicide and its aftermath. Please read with care. The irony is not lost on me that September is Suicide Prevention Month, and it is also the month my older brother decided to end his life. I don’t think people who are struggling with depression and mental illness time their decisions against calendars or awareness campaigns—but as a survivor, it’s hard not to make that connection.

September always stirs something deep in me. Suicide Prevention Month is not just a date on the calendar—it is a season of remembering. It is a time when the names and faces of people I’ve loved and lost rise to the surface: my brother, friends from school and work, people whose stories ended too soon. Their absences echo in everything I do.

When we talk about suicide prevention, most people don’t immediately think of value-based care. But in many ways, the principles of value-based care—focusing on the whole person, continuity of support, and outcomes that truly matter—are exactly what can save lives. Beyond Diagnoses: Seeing the Whole Person Traditional healthcare often stops at symptoms and diagnoses. But suicide risk doesn’t always show up in lab results.

At the Silver Threads Foundation, we believe that connection can save a life. Every day, countless people walk through life wearing a smile that hides a storm. They sit next to us in church, stand behind us in line at the grocery store, answer “I’m fine” when their heart feels anything but. Some of them are holding on by the thinnest thread — and too often, no one sees it until it’s too late.

We think we’re being kind—gentle, even.But too often, when we speak to older adults, we trade respect for condescension. And it shows up in the words we choose. “Hi there, sweetie.”“How are we doing today?”“Let’s get you all cleaned up, okay, hon?” This kind of language has a name. It’s called elderspeak, and while it may sound harmless—maybe even loving—it’s a subtle form of…

They say friendship gets harder as we get older—but what if it just gets different? Maybe the lunch dates don’t happen as often. Maybe some friends have moved, drifted, or passed on. Maybe you’ve retired, relocated, or just feel more isolated than you used to. And yet, deep down, that longing for connection remains. Here’s the truth: you’re never too old to make a new friend.

Let’s say the quiet part out loud: too often, hospitals have become dumping grounds for suicidal patients. Not sanctuaries. Not healing spaces. Not places where long-term mental health care begins. Dumping grounds. That may sound harsh, but it’s the reality many healthcare professionals—and patients—see every day. When someone reaches a mental health crisis point, especially with suicidal thoughts or behaviors, the default is often: …

It’s a quiet truth, too often unspoken: mental health struggles don’t retire just because we do. In fact, older adulthood can bring its own emotional and psychological challenges—ones that deserve just as much care and attention as our physical health. But for too long, these concerns have been dismissed as “just part of getting older.” Let’s be clear: sadness, anxiety, confusion, or withdrawal are…

Retirement isn’t the end of the story—it’s the start of a whole new chapter. But let’s be honest: while some days feel like freedom, others may feel like free fall. After decades of structure, responsibilities, and showing up for everyone else, retirement can feel strangely…quiet. Even disorienting. Who am I without the title?What do I do with all this time?

Life moves fast—even when we’ve slowed down. Our bodies may rest more than they used to, but our minds? They still race. We worry about loved ones. Replay old conversations. Think about what was and what’s to come. But here’s the good news: peace doesn’t require silence or perfection. It just asks us to notice. To pause. To breathe. Mindfulness isn’t about emptying your mind.

There is no shame in needing support.None.Not at this age. Not ever. But still, for many older adults, asking for help—especially for emotional or mental health struggles—can feel unfamiliar or even uncomfortable. Maybe we were taught to “tough it out,” to keep our pain quiet, or to believe that help was for other people. Let’s rewrite that script.

Let’s be honest—sometimes a short visit or quick phone call doesn’t quite fill the heart the way we hoped. We hang up, smile... and still feel a little lonely. That’s because real connection takes more than just checking in. It takes presence, shared joy, and the kind of time that fills us up rather than just fills a calendar. The good news?

When was the last time you picked up a paintbrush, sang along to your favorite song, or lost track of time while crafting something with your hands? If it’s been a while, you’re not alone—but you might just be missing out on one of the most powerful tools for mental and emotional wellness. As an artist, I’ve seen firsthand the healing that creativity can offer.

Let’s get something straight: struggling with suicidal thoughts does not make someone weak, attention-seeking, dramatic, or selfish. What is selfish? Dismissing someone’s pain because it makes you uncomfortable. What’s dramatic? Making someone else’s life-or-death battle about your feelings. I’m tired of watching people weaponize shame while pretending it’s “tough love.” I’m tired of the same tired myths recycled on repeat, used to excuse cruelty, emotional abandonment, and plain old ignorance.

This isn’t something most of us were taught. We’re told to reach out. We’re told to “get help.” But when someone you love is in real, immediate distress—or when you are—those words feel vague and distant. That’s where a safety plan comes in. A safety plan is a practical, step-by-step tool you create before things hit crisis level. It's not a cure.

We don’t talk about the practical stuff enough. We talk about feelings (sometimes). We talk about warning signs. We offer support. But when it comes to suicide prevention, there’s one life-saving piece that still gets overlooked too often: Means matter. If someone is in crisis, the presence—or absence—of a lethal method can be the deciding factor between life and death. That’s not speculation—it’s research-backed truth.

The Gaps in Healthcare, Housing, and Support for Aging Populations There’s a quiet kind of abandonment happening in our society.It doesn’t come with headlines.It doesn’t spark national outrage.But it’s real, and it’s growing. You see it in the waiting rooms where older adults sit for hours, only to be rushed through a seven-minute visit.You see it in the voices of caregivers who are burning out with no help.

For Those Left Behind—Complicated Grief, Guilt, and Survival No one is ever ready for it. Even if there were signs. Even if there weren’t. Even if you knew they were struggling. Even if you didn’t. When someone you love dies by suicide, the world tilts off its axis in a way that can never fully be undone. It’s a grief like no other.

Every July, we pause to recognize Minority Mental Health Awareness Month—a time to shine a light on the unique mental health struggles faced by Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC), as well as LGBTQ+ individuals and other marginalized communities. But this month is more than a calendar observance.It’s a call to listen more deeply. To speak more boldly.

Why Small Gestures Matter More Than We Realize We live in a world that praises big actions.Grand gestures. Major donations. Public declarations. But most of the time, what people really need?Is someone who simply shows up. Not to fix everything. Not to say the perfect thing.Just to be there. Presence Over Perfection When someone is grieving, hurting, struggling, or scared—we often freeze.

It’s a question asked far too often after someone dies by suicide — and it’s usually asked with the best of intentions. But here’s the hard truth: Sometimes, they did ask. Quietly. Indirectly. In ways that were easy to overlook.Sometimes, they were terrified to ask — afraid of judgment, shame, or being a burden.And sometimes, they simply couldn’t anymore.

Not all suicide looks like what we’ve been taught to fear. Sometimes, it doesn’t look like anything at all. It can look like skipping doctor’s appointments. Like not taking medications anymore. Like going to bed hoping you won’t wake up. Passive suicide, or passive suicidal ideation, is one of the most misunderstood and overlooked realities in mental health. Unlike active suicidal ideation—where someone is considering specific plans or actions to end their life—passive suicidality often shows up as a quiet erosion of hope.

Dementia, Chronic Illness, and the Fight to Remain Seen When someone is diagnosed with dementia or a chronic illness, the focus often shifts entirely to what’s “wrong.”Test results. Symptom charts. Care plans. Medication schedules.And somewhere in the shuffle, the person—their humor, quirks, preferences, history, dignity—can quietly begin to disappear. Not because they’ve changed overnight.But because the world starts to look at them…

Lately, I find myself asking the same question over and over:Why do people feel the need to be so hateful? You see it everywhere—online comment sections, political debates, community groups, even within movements that claim to stand for compassion and justice. The aggression, the cruelty, the constant tearing-down instead of building-up. And it begs the question: What is all this really about?