May is mental health awareness month, a time dedicated to raising awareness, normalizing help-seeking, and reducing stigma surrounding mental health. Those efforts matter, but they are simply not enough.
If we are serious about saving lives, we need to change the way we think about suicide prevention. For someone in the depths of suicidal thoughts, this is not about awareness. It is about connection.
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On April 19, 2019, I lost my son, Gary, to suicide. He was 30 years old. Before that day, I did everything I thought a father could do to help him as he battled severe depression. I showed up. I listened. I tried to guide him through something I could not fully understand. And when we needed help the most, I encountered a healthcare system that was not equipped to guide us or keep him safe.
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I could not find answers. I did not know where to go; I did not know what to do. And that is the part that still stays with me. I felt like I asked everyone for help, and still, there was nowhere to turn. On the day of Gary’s funeral, I made a decision. In the middle of that loss, I decided I would create something that did not yet exist. Something built specifically for people in their darkest moments. Something for families who feel completely alone and do not know where to go next.
That decision became Here Tomorrow. Because in a world dominated by Big Tech, no algorithm can replace empathy. No chatbot can replicate shared experience. No system can substitute for a person who is willing to sit with someone in their pain and help them carry it, even for a moment. We are living in a world where people are more connected than ever, and yet more alone than ever. Technology has made it easier to communicate, but harder to truly connect. And now, with the rise of AI chatbots, more people are turning to machines in their most vulnerable moments.
That should concern all of us. Artificial intelligence can simulate conversation. It can generate responses. But it cannot replace the presence of another human being who genuinely understands pain, who can sit in silence, who can say, “I’ve been there,” and mean it. When someone is battling suicidal thoughts, they are not looking for perfectly worded answers. They are looking for a reason to hold on.
After losing my son, I realized that the gap in suicide prevention is not just about access to care. It is about access to people. Real people. In real time. If we are going to change outcomes, we have to be honest about where the system is failing. Too often, people who are struggling are treated like cases instead of people. They are told to wait, sometimes 60 days or more, to see a therapist. They are placed on lists, given numbers, and expected to navigate their darkest moments alone.
But someone who is suicidal does not have 60 days. They are trying to make it through the next hour. In that hour, the difference between life and death is often one conversation. One moment of real connection. If we want to reduce suicide, we have to move beyond awareness alone. We have to rebuild a culture of showing up for one another, of checking in, of being willing to have uncomfortable conversations, and of choosing presence over convenience.
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Because at the end of the day, suicide prevention does not happen in slogans or systems. It happens in relationships. It happens one conversation at a time. One moment of connection. One friend showing up for another. That is how we start changing the narrative.
To make sure your loved ones are here tomorrow.
Joe Kenney is the founder of Here Tomorrow.
