On Monday, November 20, 2023—two years ago today—my brother walked outside his home in Georgia, lit a cigarette, took one long final drag, pressed a gun to his right temple, and pulled the trigger.
With that, he became yet another addition to the staggering number of men in America and across the world who are dying what we call “deaths of despair”—lives ended by weapons, drugs, alcohol, or the quiet, crushing weight of sadness.
I did not come to the City Club because of my brother’s death, or at least I didn’t believe so at the time. I came here after surviving a cancer battle that was supposed to end my life. Instead, I became what doctors call a medical miracle—someone now studied by the NIH and several of the country’s top cancer centers for having somehow placed a blood cancer with a single-digit four-year survival rate into hibernation. My physical recovery is unexplainable, and yet my mind and soul lagged behind my body. I needed a place to exist safely, and I found myself here…
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