It was my second day as a volunteer for the Suicide Hotline.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello, Suicide Hotline, my name is Rosamond, how can I help you?â€?, I said.

“I’ll never find love, my mother died, I dont feel well, said a youthful male voice.

“Oh, sweetie, things will get better I promise youâ€?, I told him.

“It’s not easyâ€?, he cried.

“Please whatever is bothering you, you have so much to give, you know you want to live.

“My boyfriend broke up with me, I just wanna die,” he sobbed.

“When you love someone and they break your heart, don’t give up on love,â€? I tried to reassure him.

“You’re voice, it.. it reminds me of my moms,” he said quietly.

My heart was breaking for this young man, a teen by his voice. My own son was fifteen. I couldn’t imagine him going through this much pain.

“I can stay as long as you need me hon,” I said in my best motherly voice.

We talked for another half hour and his voice seemed calmer and less stressful. I hoped he didn’t need to call again, but I’d be there if he needed me.