When I heard the news that Stephen "tWitch" Boss, who went from being a dancer and actor to a mainstay of daytime television as the DJ and co-executive producer for The Ellen DeGeneres Show, had died at age 40, my reaction, after the initial shock and sadness, was anger.
Because I discovered that Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner had confirmed that Boss died by suicide in the Encino area of Los Angeles. This news brought me right back to the morning that broke my heart.
I was dropping off my kids at school in 2009 when I saw my mother's name on my phone. She usually didn't call this early so I answered with concern. She told me in a quivering voice that my closest childhood friend had taken his life. He was in his early 40s, single and had been struggling with mental health issues, which I didn't know at the time.
He was the son of one of my mother's closest friends—a gentle boy with dirty-blond hair and soft, sea-blue eyes—and my only friend growing up. Going to his house was my favorite thing to do.
His face would light up when he saw me. Each time my mother called up the stairs to say it was time to go, my heart sank. He made me feel seen. A few years later, we moved away. I saw him a couple of times after that, but as our parents' friendship faded, so did our visits.
The day I learned of his death, I sat in my car and wept for the gentle kind boy I grew up with and loved so much.
He had been struggling with mental illness, which I did not know until after his passing. His mother found him. They lived in London and we lived in the U.S., so I didn't go to the funeral, but my own mother talked to his about her grief.
Yet I never reached out to her. I couldn't. I was afraid. With young kids of my own, I couldn't process the pain she must be feeling or the words I would use to help with her pain. Instead I wrote him a letter and poured my grief and love into words I hoped would somehow reach him:
"...I know it's been a long time since we were close. But those precious years we were in each other's lives were more important to me than you know.Your friendship was a big part of me.
You were a bright light in my lonely childhood. You never judged me or put me down. And even though I was an awkward little girl and younger than you, you treated me with such respect. You were such a gentleman, even as a little boy....
I'm so sorry for the pain you had to endure. I can't imagine how bad things got that you felt like you needed to leave this world. I hope you have found peace."
After my friend's death, I learned about the staggeringly high rate of suicides of men and it made me angry that we don't, as a society, do more to prevent this. tWitch's death sadly awakened that anger once more; it proved the suffering he and other men still go through in silence. It reminded me of the stigma that still surrounds men and mental health. tWitch and my friend were almost exactly the same age. I didn't know tWitch but I did watch him for years on The Ellen DeGeneres Show and saw his joyful videos dancing with his wife and kids.
He, like my friend, seemed so full of light and happiness. So kind, so loving, so young. Losing another person who was suffering in silence breaks my heart but it also makes me angry that we as a society have not done more to address mental health issues, and particularly those facing men.
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), in 2022 the United States males make up approximately 49 percent of the population but account for nearly 80 percent of suicides, and in the last two years the rates for men have increased twice as much as women.
CDC data from September 2022 showed that in 2021, the U.S. saw a rise in the number of suicides and the suicide rate per 100,000 people, after two years of decline. The number of suicides in men increased by 4 percent compared to 2 percent in women.
And throughout the world, every minute of every day, one man dies by suicide.
Since the death of my friend, I've put my fears of talking about suicide aside and been open and frank with my sons, now teenagers, about mental illness. I tell them that reaching out for help is not weakness but rather strength and share my own mental health struggles and positive experiences with therapy and medication.
Talking to my sons about suicide was frightening at first. Incorrect, old-fashioned notions that talking about suicide would put the idea into their heads still lingered in the back of my mind. But I fought through those fears. Teenagers are struggling in enormous numbers with mental health issues. Talking with my sons about mental health and suicide has helped them feel more comfortable sharing their own feelings and struggles with me.
There are, thankfully, resources available to men who are struggling with their mental health. The Confess Project Of America brings mental health conversations to areas where men can talk openly about their struggles: the barbershop. The organization's goal is to train barbers to become mental health advocates, to encourage men to share their struggles and then connect them to mental health resources. The Movember Foundation creates and spreads social media campaigns to bring awareness to men's mental health issues and provides education for men of all ages. And the US Shed's Men Association gives men the opportunity to connect socially and get involved in practical projects, it helps them to reconnect to their communities.
We can honor the life of my friend, of tWitch, and of the many men we've lost to suicide by talking more openly with our sons, our husbands, our brothers, our fathers, and our friends about this unfortunately still taboo subject.
That is what I've committed to do, as difficult as it can be, because it could save the life of someone I love.
Rebecca Morrison is a lawyer and writer. She lives with her husband and two sons in the Washington, D.C., area. You can follow her on Twitter @contactrebecca and read her work on www.rebeccakmorrison.com.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
If you have thoughts of suicide, confidential help is available for free at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Call 1-800-273-8255. The line is available 24 hours every day.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com
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Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
