Dodging puddles and raindrops on a Friday afternoon 25 years ago, I headed to the university’s textbook annex to grab what I needed for the fall semester of my senior year. Having just finished the first week of classes, I chatted excitedly with my then-boyfriend (now husband), Jason, about school, my soon-to-be career in journalism and our future. Noting the rainy weather, he said he wanted to check on his dad before we went home.

The day flew by and after exhausting my back-to-school shopping, we arrived at our apartment — soggy, McDonald’s bags in hand and my checkbook a lot lighter. As we settled in for the evening, the phone rang. I remember the look on Jason’s face as someone on the other end informed him his father was at the hospital and not to arrive alone.

We never made it to check on his dad that day.

At 43 years old, Timothy Potts, a Franklin County native and a longtime resident of Sunderland, ended his life — overdosing on his medications on Sept. 10, 1999, leaving behind his pain, but also two adult children who adored him and would carry the heaviness of his loss from those days forward.

This September marks the 25th anniversary of Tim’s death. It’s not lost on me that he died on World Suicide Prevention Day and his death is honored during Suicide Prevention Awareness Month.

It’s been 25 years of processing his death, trying to understand the immense pain and internal struggle he must have felt that led him to end his life that day. It’s been 25 years of Jason replaying the details in his head, wondering, “If I had stopped to check on him that day, would I have been there to intervene again before it was too late?” This wasn’t the first attempt Tim had made to end his life, but this time it was the last.

It’s been 25 years of trying to make sense of a life lost too soon. But to better understand it, we must examine the whole picture because it’s not just one moment or one thing that triggers a devastating action. It’s a culmination of all the little pieces that add up.

Tim had a long history and battle with cardiac disease. Open-heart surgery in his 30s left him with many restrictions — cardiac surgery in the late 1980s was vastly different from what it is today. After his medical leave and recovery, he was hired for several positions doing physical labor only to be let go when they learned about his condition and restrictions. He was eventually left with no choice but to go on disability.

This impacted Tim’s morale. The financial strain of losing his income compounded with the medical issues he was left with piled up. Plastic medicine bottles covered the top of their family refrigerator. An already quiet guy, he became even more withdrawn. His depression worsened and he became more isolated. He tried unsuccessfully to end his life three times after his heart surgery.

Looking back, we see a man whose chronic illness deeply affected his mental health — a man who wanted to escape the physical and mental pain he experienced every day, not wanting to “be a burden” on his family.

According to the American Heart Association, “depression after cardiac surgery isn’t uncommon.” There’s a known correlation between those who undergo major open-heart surgery and post-surgical depression. Today, patients and families are informed about the signs and symptoms that indicate a loved one could be struggling. They are equipped with tools and resources to support them. At post-op appointments, doctors not only assess their patient’s physical healing but also discuss mental health and address it accordingly using a whole-person approach.

Earlier this year, Jason underwent open-heart surgery to replace his aortic valve and a part of his ascending aorta. Armed with an amazing team of surgeons, cardiologists, doctors and nurses using this whole-person approach, in addition to family support, Jason’s story is vastly different from his father’s.

I recently connected with Pathlight Mood & Anxiety Center Regional Clinical Director Dr. Ellen Astrachan-Fletcher to reflect on and discuss the whole-person approach in health care; the correlation between chronic illness and suicide; and common themes among those who have suicidal thoughts.

“[Patients] do better when they have social support,” she said. “We know that things like that impact one’s physical well-being. [But] our society says because these medical issues are so serious, that if we’ve got a handle on them, we’re good. If your physical condition is stable, you’re through the crisis. And that doesn’t at all consider the impact on one’s emotional well-being.”

She noted the significant shift in providers over the past 20 years as they better understand the connection between mental health and physical recovery, and points to Thomas Joiner’s research and Interpersonal Theory of Suicide as a pivotal turning point. The theory outlines three main causes that place a person at the highest risk for suicide: being alone and feeling disconnected from others; feeling as if they are a burden; and having the capability or means to carry out the act.

For those with chronic illness, Astrachan-Fletcher notes these three indicators are high. Those with chronic illness or recovering from major surgery are often socially isolated or alone as family members return to work. Being out of work or needing help may make them feel like they are a burden to others. Those recovering from surgery or with chronic illness often have many prescribed medications, giving them the opportunity to overdose on challenging days.

Jason was 22 years old when Tim died. A few years ago, Jason surpassed Tim in age. He has now lived without his father longer than he had with him. And while we have the facts that surrounded the events of Sept. 10, 1999, we will never know what Tim felt or why he decided to end his life that day.

But what we do know is that battling chronic illness, loneliness and depression is hard. Everyone needs a support system to get them through the toughest times. Doing so doesn’t make you a burden; it allows the people who love you the most to step in and lend a hand. Lean on your people. Talk to your family, friends, support systems and health care providers.

Caregivers and friends — ask the questions, even the difficult ones. Look for the signs and offer support. Be the light for someone facing darkness. Acknowledging their struggles and their feelings could open the door to a life-saving conversation.

It’s been 25 years since Tim physically left us, but he lives on through his children and their work to share his story and honor his memory. Despite increased access to resources and improvements made to stomp the stigma around mental health, there’s still so much to be done. We’ll continue to breathe life into this conversation in hopes that our words might reach the right person or family at just the right time.

If you or someone you know is battling with dark thoughts, please connect with a mental health professional to help you with next steps.

Contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988. If you or a loved one is in immediate danger, call 911. For a comprehensive list of suicide prevention resources, visit pathlightbh.com/resources/suicide-prevention-resources.

Carla J. Potts is the public relations manager for the Eating Recovery Center and Pathlight Mood & Anxiety Center. A lifelong resident of western Massachusetts, she resides in Southampton.