""Son, We Need to Talk"" candidly confronts the tough topic of suicide--not an easy assignment for a pastor father. Could he have done anything to save his son's life? How did he miss the signs? And what about his prayers asking God to protect all his children? ""Son, We Need to Talk"" reveals one's father's struggle to regain his balance when his almost twenty-seven-year-old son, brilliant and full of promise, at last gives in to the bouts of depression that had haunted him for so long. In a loving suicide letter, he explains himself, but the reasons he writes down as carbon monoxide fills his vehicle do little to ease the family's pain. His father pleads for him not to kill himself, but of course he's too late. The author can't save the young man, but he does at long last fight his way back to peace. In ""Son, We Need to Talk,"" the author confesses his sense of a loss beyond calculation, of a faith unafraid to ask questions (even of God), of a love that will not let go, and of the ultimate triumph of hope.
""Son, We Need to Talk"" candidly confronts the tough topic of suicide--not an easy assignment for a pastor father. Could he have done anything to save his son's life? How did he miss the signs? And what about his prayers asking God to protect all his children? ""Son, We Need to Talk"" reveals one's father's struggle to regain his balance when his almost twenty-seven-year-old son, brilliant and full of promise, at last gives in to the bouts of depression that had haunted him for so long. In a loving suicide letter, he explains himself, but the reasons he writes down as carbon monoxide fills his vehicle do little to ease the family's pain. His father pleads for him not to kill himself, but of course he's too late. The author can't save the young man, but he does at long last fight his way back to peace. In ""Son, We Need to Talk,"" the author confesses his sense of a loss beyond calculation, of a faith unafraid to ask questions (even of God), of a love that will not let go, and of the ultimate triumph of hope.
