In Memory of Charlie
A bright young mind who would do so much for public health is gone.
I first met Charlie when they were an undergraduate student in public health. Like so many students in public health, Charlie became interested in public health and medicine during the pandemic. They saw what public health workers were doing, so they decided to jump into the fray and help out. That volunteer experience earned Charlie acceptance into a master of public health (MPH) program.
Like so many public health students I’ve come across, Charlie didn’t stand out to me. They were just another student in a sea of faces online or in person. The students who do stand out are the ones who are very extroverted and ask a million questions. Or they schedule office hours every week because they are anxious about their performance in class. But not Charlie. Charlie just did their job and got good grades.
It’s hard for me to fully judge my students when I only see them one or two hours per week in a classroom setting. I don’t get to see them at home, with their friends, or in other social situations. While they may act one way in class, they may act a completely different way outside of the school setting. They may be shy and quiet, then turn into extroverted “party animals” the minute they’re with friends.
So most of what I know about my students comes from seeing them in class, talking to them in an academic setting, or seeing their posts and comments on LinkedIn. One of the academic institutions where I work prohibits talking to students outside of the school setting, or only via the school’s email. I think this is smart, as it avoids trouble if there are misunderstandings.
Still, the crisis of loneliness that we seem to be going through is surely affecting my students. I wish I could do more, but I am limited by time and space, and the fact that I am well past their generation. For many, if not most, I am old enough to be their father. That age difference makes it hard to not see them as my kids, though. Now that I have a daughter, I see her in all the young women and men I teach… As I’m sure someone will see my daughter as their own one day.
Charlie died by suicide last week.* They were found in the apartment they shared with roommates one morning. The roommates usually saw Charlie go out for a run, but Charlie’s bedroom door was closed that morning and there was no sign that Charlie had gone out for a run. The roommates finally entered the room to look for Charlie and saw Charlie in bed. When Charlie wouldn’t wake up, the roommate searched for a pulse.
According to roommates and some social media postings, Charlie left behind a letter detailing their decision to end their life. The family is holding that letter in confidence, and they have stated that they will not be releasing it any time soon. But they did make it clear to friends of Charlie that Charlie did not blame any of them. Charlie didn’t blame anyone at all. From what the parents stated, the letter was an apology for being weak and overwhelmed by the events of the world.
You see, Charlie cared about the profession they were entering into, and they saw what was going on around them. From what we gather, the future was too bleak. Where Charlie had once seen advances from all that we learned in the pandemic, there was now an organized effort by the federal government to dismantle public health. In doing so, Charlie’s options for their life after they earned the degree started to dwindle. According to one of Charlie’s friends, that lack of clarity on where things would go was a major source of anxiety for Charlie.
But that’s it. That’s all I know of what caused Charlie to do what they did.
I do know how much Charlie’s friends and loved ones must be suffering through this. Like them, I also had to deal with a death by suicide very close to me. I know the feeling of guilt over what could have been done to avoid it. Realistically, none of us can read minds. We don’t know what is going on in other people’s heads, especially if we don’t spend much time with them, or we have not known them their whole lives.
In the end, I wish I could apologize to Charlie, and tell them that I will work as hard as I can to restore hope to their generation of public health students and future workers. Those of us already in the profession will do our best to counter the plans of people who seek to destroy medicine and public health. And I would tell Charlie that these kinds of things have happened before, and will likely happen again.
But I can’t.
So I’m telling you instead.
In 2022, almost 49,500 people in the United States died by suicide. That’s a staggering number, and it makes suicide one of the leading causes of death in this country. (It’s twice the number of deaths from homicide.) Suicide doesn’t discriminate. It affects people of all ages. The rates are especially high among middle-aged and older adults, with men over 75 at the highest risk. For young people, suicide is the second or third most common cause of death, even though their overall rate is lower than it is for older groups. Men are about four times more likely to die by suicide than women. These numbers make it clear: we need to talk more openly about mental health, support one another, and take these issues seriously.
If you or someone you care about is struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please know that you’re not alone.
There is help out there. The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available 24/7 — just call or text 988, or chat online at 988lifeline.org. Young people can also text HOME to 741741 to connect with a counselor through the Crisis Text Line. If you’re looking for support from someone in the LGBTQ+ community, The Trevor Project is there for you any time at 1–866–488–7386 or by texting START to 678678.
No matter how overwhelming things might feel, there is hope. Reaching out for help is a sign of strength. Things can and do get better, and there are people who care and want to support you. You matter, and you’re not alone.
*“Last week from when I first drafted this.”
