11
A Reason to Live
After three thwarted suicide attempts, Jamal Dawson heard God’s message of hope loud and clear.
Jamal Dawson had gone to a lot of trouble to make his suicide look like an accident. He’d checked and packed his camping gear carefully, just as he’d have done before an ordinary hunting trip. He got out his worn topographical map of the Bitterroot National Forest in Idaho and selected his destination—a spot he’d hunted many times before, deep in the remotest part of the mountains.
Unlocking his gun case, Jamal lifted out the only rifle he would even consider for such a purpose: the Winchester .30–06 his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday. He double-checked the engine fluids and tire pressure in his 4x4 Jeep Wagoneer.
The trip into the wilderness had been rougher than usual, since recent thunderstorms washed out parts of the already rugged roads. But he arrived in early afternoon and set up camp: tent, fire ring, cookstove, and provisions. All of it had to give the appearance of normality. Just a hunting trip gone wrong.
Another summer storm was gathering on the flanks of the mountaintop above the camp, and the thin air was unusually still and heavy, as if the world held its breath, waiting for what would happen next.
Jamal had his reasons for wanting to die. After serving two tours in Iraq as a marine, he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, though he didn’t know to call it that. He had no name for his intense mood swings and the unpredictable, uncontrollable anger that seized him without warning. Seeming to swing helplessly between rage and depression, he simply thought he was “broken,” a failure with no one to blame but himself.
“During that time I was not a pleasant person to be around,” he recalled. “I decided it’d be better for everyone if I just took myself out of the picture.”
As if the psychological and emotional challenge of dealing with wartime experiences were not enough, Jamal was burdened with two additional traumas that contributed to his sense of hopelessness upon returning to civilian life.
First, while he was still in Iraq, his father had died of a sudden heart attack. He’d become familiar with the pain of losing friends in combat and the devastation of warfare, but news of his father’s death was an unexpected blow. Being so far away, he was unable to grieve properly or achieve any sense of closure. His pain and anger turned destructively inward, and going back home only deepened his feelings of loss.
Second, soon after he left the marines, his wife filed for divorce, ending their twelve-year marriage. Her initial reasons were vague, but after some digging, Jamal discovered she’d begun a relationship with a co-worker while he was in Iraq. On top of everything else, he’d lost his family to another man.
Despite all his reasons for killing himself, Jamal had one very powerful motive for ensuring it looked accidental. Crystal. His daughter.
“I loved her more than anything in the world,” he said. “But I was hurting so bad that I honestly believed I’d be doing her a favor to kill myself and get out of her life. Even so, I still wasn’t willing to leave her with the shame and pain of knowing that’s what I’d done. She deserved a chance to grieve and then move on.”
His decision made, he updated his military benefits and life insurance policies, naming Crystal sole beneficiary of almost $500,000. She was twelve years old.
Jamal took one last look around his camp. Everything was in place; no reason to delay now. A scrub jay, commonly known as a “camp robber,” landed on the Wagoneer’s roof and delivered an impassioned speech. He smiled at the ironic timing and told the bird, “It’ll all be yours soon.” He flipped open his phone and saw what he expected: no service available this far into the mountains. He’d never been able to make or receive calls on previous trips—why should today be different? The thought comforted him somehow, as if the lack of connection was another veil of secrecy protecting him from discovery.
He retrieved his rifle and a cleaning kit from the back of the car. Taking a seat on the camping stool he’d brought, he spread the supplies on the ground near the fire pit he would never use. Leaving nothing to chance, he assembled the cleaning rod and fixed the wire bore brush to the end. He put a few drops of cleaning solution into the barrel and ran the brush through.
Make it look real, he thought, aware of the sound of his breathing and of his quickening heartbeat. He removed a cartridge from the box and slid it into the chamber. As it had done hundreds of times before, his thumb flipped the safety switch beside the trigger guard.
Jamal took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Relief, he thought. Finally.
The truth is, that day in the woods wasn’t Jamal’s first attempt at suicide-made-to-look-accidental. He’d been thwarted twice before by people who, uninvited, had stumbled onto the scene at just the wrong moment.
First, he’d “unintentionally” taken an overdose of pain medication. A plausible scenario, since a back injury several years before had left him in chronic pain. He’d carefully made sure he’d be undisturbed for the evening and then swallowed just enough to do the job without looking deliberate. He would have succeeded had an acquaintance not dropped by unexpectedly and found him unconscious. ER personnel pumped his stomach in the nick of time and later lectured him about the need for caution with such potent pills.
Next he tried carbon monoxide poisoning by tinkering with the decrepit gas stove in his rental house. He lay on the sofa, the TV chirping away in the background, and waited for the permanent sleep he so desperately wanted. Just when the fumes were about to reach an effective concentration, a knock sounded on the front door. It was an old friend Jamal hadn’t seen in fifteen years.
“The guy didn’t even live in town anymore,” he said. “The hotel where he’d planned to stay messed up his reservation. On a whim he decided to see if he could save money by crashing on my couch for a few days. I still don’t know how he found me.” Unable to say no to a high school buddy, Jamal invited him in—and surreptitiously repaired the stove. To make matters worse, the man was insufferably upbeat and happy, going on and on about each day being a precious gift from God. A sentiment Jamal chose to ignore.
Having failed two times, he’d learned his lesson. That’s why, when making his third—and final—plan, he chose the wilderness. No one will “drop by” and disturb me there, he thought.
The sky had grown dark ahead of the rainstorm now making its way across the valley. The tops of the lodgepole pine trees began to bend in the strengthening breeze. Jamal rested the butt of his rifle on the ground between his feet. He imagined U.S. Forest Service investigators examining the scene later and finding no reason to doubt the fiction he’d created. He placed his thumb on the trigger. After all the times he’d run from death with fellow marines in the back alleys of Iraq, now he turned and faced it, lonely and alone. Now—
His phone buzzed and chimed in his pants pocket.
Startled and shaken, he put down the gun and flipped open the phone with fumbling fingers. There on the display was a text message: “I miss you so much! When can I see you? I need your advice about something.”
He blinked, unable to believe his eyes. It was from Crystal. He glanced at the signal strength indicator on the phone: full bars.
No way, he thought. I’m in the middle of nowhere. There’s no cell service out here. Impossible.
Suddenly the past few years of his life came into focus. A flood of questions surged through his mind.
What if Crystal did need him after all?
What if he still had something to offer her?
What if these three “coincidences” preventing his self-caused death were more than that?
What if God really did care if he lived?
At once, the answers seemed blindingly obvious. Of course he meant more to his daughter than military benefits and insurance policies. Of course the most important thing was to be there for her as she grew up. Of course this series of near-misses was a message he should heed.
With tears streaming down his face, Jamal saw himself—as if for the very first time—through God’s eyes: broken and hurting, but immensely valuable and loved beyond all reason.
He looked at the firearm leaning against his leg and felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of his “almost” mistake. Three times God had stopped him. Three times he was given a new chance to choose life. This time he would listen. This time he would turn from despair and look into the face of hope.
Jamal packed up and drove home. Eventually, he found a psychiatrist who specialized in treating PTSD and committed himself to a program of therapy and proper medication. The road to recovery he’s walked since has not been easy, but after choosing to live he soon found it worth the effort.
He took advantage of his veteran’s benefits and went to college. Now he teaches high school English and coaches the football team. Mentoring several students and players has filled him with purpose and passion. Most important, he and Crystal are closer than ever, bonded more tightly than he’d imagined a dad and daughter could be.
“This really isn’t a typical happily-ever-after story, not a Hollywood ending,” Jamal admitted. “I still have scars that need healing, wounds that may never completely go away. And I still have a lot of unanswered questions about the suffering I’ve seen. But at least I’m open and willing to have God show me the way. I listen closely to what he has to tell me. I know he helped me stay alive for a reason, and each day I strive to live out that reason.”