In September, as the nation marks Suicide Prevention Month, I find myself reflecting not only as a social worker and mental health professional, but also as a wife who walked through the darkest nights of my husband’s life. My husband was a Veteran of the U.S. Army Special Operations community. He carried the invisible wounds of war, and while I had spent years in service as a caregiver, nothing could fully prepare me for the reality of living alongside his battles with depression, trauma, and suicidality.
I know the statistics: Veterans are at higher risk of suicide than the general population, and firearms are used in the vast majority of these deaths. But behind every statistic is a story, and mine is one of both unbearable loss and profound lessons about hope, prevention, and the power of honest conversations.
The Night That Changed Everything
In 2017, my husband survived his first suicide attempt. That moment shattered me. As both his wife and his caregiver, I had been on high alert for several years, watching for changes in his mood, making sure he went to appointments, reminding him that he mattered. But nothing prepares you for the moment when the person you love most tries to leave this world.
After the initial crisis passed and we both had a little space to breathe, we sat down and had a conversation that has stayed with me to this day. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t angry. It was calm, honest, and vulnerable. We talked about the guns in our home. He admitted that in moments of despair, their presence was both comforting and dangerous. Together, we decided that the safest thing was for me to lock them away and hold the key. That decision was not about control—it was about partnership. We discussed how this arrangement didn’t have to be permanent. When he was in a better mental state, he could regain access again. That promise mattered to him. It gave him dignity and agency, while also protecting him during the fragile stretches when seconds could determine the difference between life and death.
Firearms, Veterans, and Suicide: Why Time Matters
The conversation my husband and I had is at the heart of what suicide prevention experts now call “lethal means safety.” It’s the idea that by creating time and distance between a person in crisis and a lethal method—especially a firearm—we can save lives.
Here’s why this matters so much for Veterans:
- Firearms are the most common means of suicide among Veterans. Studies show that about 70% of Veteran suicides involve a firearm.
- Suicidal crises are often brief. For many people, the intense desire to die lasts minutes to hours, not days. If we can put space between the impulse and the means, we create a window for safety, connection, and hope.
- Access changes outcomes. Research consistently shows that when lethal means are less accessible, suicide rates decline without increasing deaths by other methods.
For us, agreeing to lock away the firearms was an act of love and trust. It didn’t take away his rights or identity as a Veteran who valued his service and his weapon. Instead, it said: Your life is worth protecting, and we’ll do this together.
From Caregiver to Mental Health Professional
Looking back, I realize how much my roles as caregiver and mental health professional informed each other. On one hand, I had clinical knowledge about suicide prevention, risk factors, and safety planning. On the other hand, I had the lived experience of being the person sitting beside someone I loved as he wrestled with whether he could keep living.
From both vantage points, I’ve learned key lessons that I now share with others:
- Have the hard conversation early. Don’t wait until you’re in the middle of a crisis. My husband and I talked about firearm safety when things were calm, not in the heat of despair. That gave us space to be rational, respectful, and collaborative.
- Make it about safety, not control. Framing the decision as temporary and focused on protection helped preserve his sense of dignity. This is vital when working with Veterans, many of whom value autonomy and responsibility.
- Use tools and resources. Safety planning gives families and providers structured ways to prepare for future crises. Combining these with resources like the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline ensures that support is always accessible.
- Caregivers need support too. I learned the hard way that carrying someone else’s pain is heavy. Caregivers must have their own outlets—therapy, peer support, respite—so they can keep showing up without losing themselves in the process.
The Emotional Weight of Being “the Key Holder”
Holding the key to the gun safe symbolized more than physical safety. It symbolized the fragile balance of love, trust, and responsibility that defines so many military and Veteran families. It was heavy. Some days, I resented the pressure. Some days, I feared what would happen if I let my guard down. Some days, I longed for the simplicity of being “just a wife” instead of a gatekeeper to life and death.
But most days, I recognized the honor it was to be entrusted with his vulnerability. He trusted me to protect him when he couldn’t protect himself. That trust is sacred, and it reminds me now of the deep role caregivers play in suicide prevention.
Loss and Hope
Despite all of our efforts, my husband lost his life to suicide last year. That loss is something I carry with me every day. And yet, his story is also one of teaching. The lessons I learned from loving him fuel my work now. I share our story not to bring more pain into the world, but to help others see that prevention is possible—conversations matter, and safety planning matters. Small actions, such as locking up firearms or holding the key for a short period, can truly save lives. Hope does not erase the struggle, but it creates space for survival. And sometimes, that space is enough to get through another day.
Veterans, You Are Not a Burden
One of the most painful things I carry is knowing that my husband believed he was a burden to us. He thought we would be better off without him. I need every Veteran reading this to hear me clearly: You are not a burden to your family. We are not better off without you. We are forever changed by your absence.
Since his death, two of my daughters have struggled immensely. One began self-harming as she tried to cope with the loss. Their lives, their relationships, and their futures have all been shaped by this grief. They will never have their father to walk them down the aisle, and future grandchildren will never know their grandfather. The financial and emotional strain remains with us daily. If my husband had been able to imagine the pain his absence would bring to his children, I know he would not have gone through with it.
Veterans, please understand: your life matters in ways you may not see when despair clouds your vision. The ripple effects of suicide extend far beyond the moment—it reshapes your family for generations. Hold on. Reach out. You are deeply needed and loved.
A Call to Action
This Suicide Prevention Month, I invite you to take action in your own circle:
- Have the hard conversation early. Don’t wait until you’re in the middle of a crisis. My husband and I talked about firearm safety when things were calm, not in the heat of despair. That gave us space to be rational, respectful, and collaborative.
- Make it about safety, not control. Framing the decision as temporary and focused on protection helped preserve his sense of dignity. This is vital when working with Veterans, many of whom value autonomy and responsibility.
- Use tools and resources. Safety planning gives families and providers structured ways to prepare for future crises. Combining these with resources like the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline ensures that support is always accessible.
- Caregivers need support too. I learned the hard way that carrying someone else’s pain is heavy. Caregivers must have their own outlets—therapy, peer support, respite—so they can keep showing up without losing themselves in the process.
Closing Words
I know what it feels like to be terrified for someone you love. I know the helplessness, the exhaustion, and the heartbreak. But I also know the power of conversations, the strength of partnerships, and the possibility of hope even in the darkest moments. To every Veteran and every family member reading this: You are not alone. Your life matters. There are people and resources ready to stand with you, to hold hope when it feels too heavy, and to remind you that tomorrow is worth seeing.
If you or someone you know is in crisis, dial 988 and press 1 for the Veterans Crisis Line. And remember—hope is real, help is available, and healing is possible.
Shawn Moore is a Licensed Master Social Worker, seasoned nonprofit leader, and nationally recognized speaker specializing in military and veteran family advocacy, suicide prevention, and trauma-informed care. A former police officer turned mental health advocate, Shawn brings over two decades of frontline experience and lived insight as a veteran caregiver and widow of an Army veteran who died by suicide.