At the Crisis Centre, our volunteers are the heartbeat of everything we do. On August 19th, we came together for our annual Summer Jamboree to BBQ, eat, play games and spend time together! The event was a joyful celebration of our dedicated volunteers and, thanks to the generosity of several local businesses, it was extra special.
We’re proud to spotlight these caring community partners who donated prizes to help us say “thank you” in style:
Thank you so much to these businesses for being a part of our story. Each gift is a reminder of the strong community spirit that surrounds our work. We’re deeply grateful for these prizes which help us honour the volunteers who give their time, energy, and compassion to keep the Centre running!
As mist coats the surface of the lake and the silence of night gives way to birdsong, the scene is set for a reflective early morning. I join over a hundred others gathered well before the break of dawn for Darkness into Light, an opportunity to remember those we have lost to suicide. We will walk side-by-side, starting in the pitch-black of night, and moving until the break of dawn. The timing is intentional, the slow unveiling of daylight represents hope for those who are feeling lost.
160 of us in Vancouver are joined by 150,000 others around the world, our chapter closing out an event that began 19 hours earlier in New Zealand. Globally, the events will raise over 5 million dollars for suicide prevention efforts, ensuring an untold many experiencing crises of their own will be able to access the resources they need. The event saves lives on a global scale, a delightful byproduct of showing up for our community.
At the start line, the atmosphere is surprisingly lively. Brisk night air and dim tea lights encourage us to huddle shoulder-to-shoulder. Those sipping coffee take it upon themselves to keep the rest awake with pleasantries. A steady stream of conversation takes many from dark into dawn, much of it lighthearted and delivered with a smile. The topic of suicide is met with empathy and never pity, stripping it of its stigma.
I realized this the first time I was asked what brought me to Darkness Into Light. I hesitated and gave into my natural inclination to deflect the question. ‘I am writing a piece on it’, I say reluctantly. ‘Yes, but what is the draw of writing this piece for you?’, they pressed. It is obvious they know I am dancing around the question, far too willing to adhere to small talk protocol. I take a moment to reset, to give my candid answer.
I am here, I admit, because I experienced a depressive period years ago. One where I recessed into a headspace of growing insecurities and my indifference let it dictate how I felt. Without the words or the vulnerability to share how I felt, my suffering only intensified until I began to have suicidal thoughts. My episode came to a head when I felt suicide became my only option. With nothing to lose, I begrudgingly opened up to family and friends about the thoughts that plagued me. It was not always received positively, but to have someone rooting for you is enough to start repealing the mental blocks that complacency creates. There, presented as plainly as possible, was the power of people. Now that I have left that low point, I want to help shoulder the weight of despondency for others. That is why I am here.
‘Yes, that is hard. But I am happy you are here today’, he replies. I smile and ask what brings him here.
Many attend in memory of loved ones. I knew this coming into the event and it was a point of unease for me. A sense that, having been fortunate enough to not lose someone to suicide, I will be unable to connect with other walkers. Isn’t it so wonderful to be surprised?
Everyone serves to benefit from the gift of patience, here are people who understand how distressing it is to be deprived of it. Whereas community has generally become a meaningless buzzword, its role unclear in an increasingly isolated society, here it blossoms into something that is felt. Each and every interaction was a joy, everybody seemed to adopt a how are you, really? attitude as their attention was at your disposal to provide the space to express yourself. I rarely found myself talking about the past, which seemed antithetical in the process of getting to know someone. Perhaps the commitment to moving forward, a theme of the event, became contagious. It is exciting to be characterized by your intentions and wishes, not limited by a past self that you hardly recognize anymore. The future just felt so much bigger, there was still the whole morning to go! What are you looking forward to over the weekend? What has you counting down the days? What’s next? Personally, I could not wait to have a nap.
Darkness into Light takes place annually, and I strongly encourage you to attend next year’s event. It is a great way to sift through the often alienating bustle of the city, a way to feel attuned to an intimate community, where connections are genuine and impactful. Contributions from the event allow an untold many to access mental health resources worldwide, equipping them with invaluable life-preserving skills. Although, I guarantee you will find the most tangible impressions happening closer to home.
Between now and then, there are many other great options to get involved. For those who have lost someone to suicide, the Crisis Centre holds a community gathering, Take a Walk With Us, quarterly in Pacific Spirit Park. Your generosity maintains this vital space for connection, and I ask that you consider making a donation to the Centre’s Bereavement Fund. Regardless of what you may be able to give, the Crisis Centre is here to offer support to all. We only require you to keep an open mind and to be respectful stewards of the relationships that keep us whole. You are as fundamental of an ambassador for suicide prevention as anybody else. Take care of yourself and do not be afraid to provide yourself with whatever you may need. When you are ready, extend a hand to those around you – patience is the most impactful gift you can offer. With your help, we can build a more resilient community.
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Crisis lines are available across British Columbia 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, please call:
Myth 1: You have to be wealthy.
Planned giving is for anyone who wants to make a difference—no matter the size of the gift.
Myth 2: Your family will receive less.
Legacy gifts are arranged after your loved ones are taken care of.
Myth 3: It’s too complicated.
Most planned gifts are easy to arrange with a few lines in your will or a change to a beneficiary form.
Myth 4: I have to tell the charity.
You don’t—but letting us know helps us honour your legacy.
Myth 5: A small gift doesn’t matter.
Every gift creates impact. Every act of compassion shapes the future.
Your legacy can save lives. It can create peace in someone’s darkest moment. It can be the voice that answers a call when no one else does. If you’re ready to start that conversation, we’re here.
We are sharing personal stories from those who have experienced suicide grief. These reflections may offer connection, comfort, or a sense of understanding to others navigating a similar loss. This is one story in our series. You can find all of our stories on our updates page.
This story discusses themes that readers may find upsetting. If you or someone you know is struggling or needs help, support is available.
Mary met Philip for coffee in 2010 after matching on Eharmony. Coffee turned into dinner, which led to a relationship, which culminated in marriage. It was easy for Mary to be drawn to Philip— he was handsome, funny and had a natural charisma that kept their conversation flowing as they navigated the early stages of dating.
In 2013 Philip proposed on Christmas by asking Mary’s niece to test out the filming capabilities of his new IPad, whereupon he proceeded to get down on one knee and pop the question in front of Mary’s family. Mary, the more reserved half to Philip’s extroverted half, would have preferred a quieter affair, but was happy to accept the proposal nonetheless. The act of balancing one another was already a part of their dynamic and would continue during their marriage when they tied the knot two years later.
Philip loved to host people, and during their dinners they balanced the tasks by him cooking the meat and Mary preparing the side dishes. And when it came to physical activity, Philip would gently push Mary outside of her comfort zone, guiding her on walks, hikes and bike rides— where even if he overtook her, he would always wait patiently for her to catch up. In turn, she supported his endeavours with triathlons and later his Iron Man training. “I went to every race he attended. It didn’t matter if we had to be up at 6, I’d be there.” She was proud of everything he accomplished, both physically and in his career as a software engineer, and he in turn valued her patience and practical, calm nature. Their marriage was a stable and fulfilling partnership.
In the Spring of 2021 Philip suffered a back injury and experienced sciatica in its aftermath. Sciatica is characterized by an injury to the sciatic nerves causing pain, inflammation and tingling. Sometimes it goes away on its own as it had for Philip in a previous instance, but other times it becomes chronic and complicates other localized pain, as it did with Philip’s second experience. It was the first time that “he had an injury that left him unable to exercise in the scheduled, regimented and rigorous way that he was accustomed to.”
When somebody builds their life, happiness and mental-wellbeing around a routine, and that routine is disrupted, it becomes a loss of life in its own right. Philip passed from suicide in 2023— a decision that has impacted many, but which deserves empathy.
Mary’s dog
When Mary’s initial shock subsided, she was left with a persisting denial. In our culture, we have popularized “the five stages of grief” as a linear roadmap for grief, when that couldn’t be further from most peoples’ experiences. Denial is touted as the first of these stages, when in fact it can pop up at any time in the grieving process and linger for far longer than one might expect. Mary believed the reality of her situation was too great for her system to handle, and she found that she frequently had to remind herself of the truth, repeatedly breaking down the barriers of compartmentalization. Only recently has she been able to acutely sit with the grief. “I still don’t want it. I still don’t like it, but I’m no longer actively pushing it away like in the beginning.”
In the immediate weeks and months after her husband’s passing, Mary grounded herself in the present by taking care of their dog. She had wanted a small dog; he had wanted a large one— in the end, he won. But Mary was glad she had a large, active dog to go on walks with and take care of. It became a constant in her routine.
“I still don’t want it. I still don’t like it, but I’m no longer actively pushing it away like in the beginning.”
Mary sought counselling in the immediate aftermath, and then a friend suggested an eight week online grief support group. Then later, she attended the Crisis Centre’s walking group and from there was referred to our in-person support group. For Mary, having the sense of community of the in-person events and groups was particularly healing. “Other people in the group were able to articulate things that I was feeling, that I either couldn’t bring myself to say or couldn’t find a way to say.” She was able to form connections easier, even meeting a woman with similar circumstances to whom she could further open up. Mary cites attending the groups as crucial in moving through her avoidance, and urges those processing grief to seek out support groups when possible, even if they seem daunting. Being in a group space is beneficial even if you’re not the one doing the bulk of the talking or processing.
Support also extends to the immediate circle of our friends and family. There too, Mary has some sage advice: When offering support, give space for the griever to speak freely, explore memories and show up in whatever emotional state they currently reside— even when they are in the depths of their sadness. Avoid platitudes such as “they’re in a better place,” or “it was God’s plan,” or “everything happens for a reason.” Mary also emphasizes that especially in the early weeks and months, people who want to reach out and offer support should do just that, instead of asking the griever how they best want to be supported. Often, the last thing someone wants to do in the throws of grief is use their limited energy to advocate for their needs.
Recently, Mary has been returning to the routines her and Philip used to share with one another: post-walk ice creams at their favourite parlour, walks in the deep woods, even visiting Algonquin Park, where Philip would camp yearly with friends. And within herself, Mary honours Philip’s generosity. Philip was the type of person to pay for educational courses for his nephew when he was lost on what to do with school, or to buy Mary’s mom a back massager when she was experiencing back pain. Mary tries to emulate his thoughtfulness with others, and keep his humorous spark alive as well, thinking of him often when she meets people with the same sarcastic edge; as with one man at her support group who had the whole room laughing even in moments of darkness.
One of the first subjects Mary brought up in our conversation was her recent foray into vocal lessons. She had once been in a choir and was looking to brush up on her musicality before joining one once again. At the end of our conversation, she brought up the lessons once more and stumbled upon a beautiful metaphor for the grief journey: For the longest time after Philip’s death she couldn’t listen to music, and then she could only listen to music without lyrics, and then she found herself listening to the album with their wedding song, and finally as part of her vocal lessons she’s been learning to sing the music from said album. Every individual journey through grief takes a different path, but in the end we’re all looking to regain our voices.
Crisis support is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 9-8-8 from anywhere in Canada or the US.
If you have experienced a suicide loss, support is available. For resources, contact information, and more details about the suicide grief support offered by the Crisis Centre, see our Suicide Grief Support page.
Our bereavement program relies on donations. If you feel called to, you can make a contribution here.
Vancouver, BC — June 17, 2025 – With British Columbians increasingly affected by distressing news, including climate-related disasters like wildfires, international conflicts, tariff uncertainty, and political unrest, the Crisis Centre of BC is urging news outlets to include mental health crisis resources in their coverage.
The 310-6789 mental health crisis line is BC’s primary line offering free, confidential, and immediate support to anyone in British Columbia, 24 hours a day. The Crisis Centre encourages journalists, producers, and editors to reference this number in stories covering traumatic or emotionally challenging topics.
“When the news feels overwhelming, many people in our communities experience anxiety, fear, or uncertainty. People directly affected by the events may want help to think through their next steps,” said Stacy Ashton, Executive Director of the Crisis Centre of BC. “We want to remind folks that they are not alone. Support is just a phone call away.”
By integrating mental health crisis resources into media coverage, journalists, editors, and producers can play a pivotal role in connecting individuals to crisis support lines.
Key Information:
BC Crisis Line: 310-6789 (no area code needed, available 24/7 across BC).
Who It’s For: Anyone in BC experiencing emotional distress, anxiety, loneliness, fear, uncertainty, or mental health concerns.
What We Ask: When covering stories related to traumatic events, please include a note encouraging the public to contact the 310-6789 line for support.
Additional Resources in BC
1-800-SUICIDE is the BC suicide prevention and intervention phone line.
9-8-8 is the national suicide crisis phone and text line.
We are sharing personal stories from those who have experienced suicide grief. These reflections may offer connection, comfort, or a sense of understanding to others navigating a similar loss. This is one story in our series. You can find all of our stories on our updates page.
This story discusses themes that readers may find upsetting. If you or someone you know is struggling or needs help, support is available.
Nooria arrived from Pakistan to Canada in 2002 after previously fleeing Afghanistan during the rise of the war in the 1990s. For many international citizens seeking political asylum, the transition from their homeland to a brand new country can be jarring, but Nooria emphasizes that she and her family felt blessed to be welcomed into the safety of British Columbia. Above all else, Nooria values the support of family and having them by her side was pivotal not only for the massive adjustment of immigrating to a new country, but in every stage of life that followed— including the passing of her late husband from suicide.
Roohullah reached out to Nooria in 2013 on Facebook. They had attended high school together in Pakistan and Roohullah was looking to connect with people from his past that had also moved to Canada. Even though she couldn’t remember meeting him in school, the two of them started to chat online and their relationship quickly began to prosper. By 2014 they were married and Nooria had packed her life up once again, this time moving across the country to live with Roohullah in Toronto.
Nooria remembers their early years of marriage with a complicated suite of emotions. In her culture, men are expected to be the head of the household and subsume the duties of looking after their parents as they age. Roohullah took the role of provider very seriously, working long and tedious hours running a breakfast restaurant in Toronto while also dutifully looking after his aging parents. Unfortunately, this left Nooria often feeling lonely and without support, as her own family remained on the West Coast. To compensate, she threw herself into studying to become an early childhood educator and visited her family whenever she could.
Things came to a boiling point after the birth of her son in 2017. After a difficult birth by C-section, it was revealed that her son would need to remain in the hospital for monitoring. Days turned into weeks, turned into months— and finally, 8 months after he was born, he was cleared to go home. Home for Nooria, was where her family resided. More than ever before, she needed the support of her mother and sister. Roohullah would remain in Toronto to continue running his business and stay with his parents. A divide had been created between the two of them, and geography was to grow that divide even further.
Roohullah did eventually join Nooria in British Columbia in early 2019, but sadly, in the summer of 2020 she received news her husband had died by suicide. “My brain turned off and separated itself from my body.” Dissociation and derealization are common coping mechanisms in the grieving process. For Nooria, they were necessary to get through the difficult weeks and months ahead. In many cultures, including South Asia, suicide is a taboo subject, even more so when religious values play a role. When people experience suicide loss within a system that emphasizes suicide as a sin or failure, the blame is passed around, leading to a toxic cycle of division and silence. This exact cycle is where Nooria initially found herself.
Roohullah’s family, grieving in their own way, placed the blame onto Nooria, looking for a scapegoat for their own complicated emotions. It is worth emphasizing that no one is ever to blame for the actions of another, and the choice to extend empathy and support is always the better option over blame and isolation.
Nooria
Thankfully, Nooria’s story extends beyond the narrative placed upon her by others. She had the strength of her family behind her the entire time, offering her endless support: emotionally, financially, spiritually. Her son was still her number one priority and she once again threw herself into motherhood. She would take long walks with him in nature, giving herself over to the elements and God while freely directing her anger and pain to the sky above.
Every morning she prayed for guidance and hope, beginning a journey that would transform and deepen her spirituality and knowledge base. The journey began in earnest when she signed up for a conscious grief summit after its program mysteriously found itself in her email inbox. Attending the summit opened her up to a new world completely: “What I was learning about grief gave me a voice for the feelings I was already experiencing.” Without language and concepts to filter our feelings through, it can be difficult to process them effectively— one of many reasons why suicide loss resources are necessary in our communities.
After the summit, Nooria dove headfirst into her healing journey. She took classes in everything from forgiveness mediation, to yoga, to energy and chakra healing. With every new class she attended or practice she followed, she took wisdom from the experience and carried it over into the next. All the while, she still returned to the guidance of her ismaili faith (present Imam) and God. “I learned to trust the universe and trust the process.” Through her spirituality, she was able to find forgiveness: for herself, for her husband, for his family. “I chose love, life and healing rather than focusing on the past.”
Every person is on their own path— and when one walks a path of grief, they alone decide how best to make peace with their feelings. Some people may want to forever hold onto their past and cherish the memories of a lost loved one, but for others it’s best to prioritize the present and walk towards a future of peace and contentment.
Nooria wishes to spread a message of peace and comfort to those who read her story or cross her path. As she always has, she places emphasis on community and urges those who would like to get involved to volunteer or donate to organizations that offer support for suicide loss— or to reach out and build support bridges of your own.
Along her journey, Nooria learned and practiced the indigenous Hawaiian prayer for forgiveness (ho’oponopono). A powerful tool for many in the grieving process, I find it a fitting note on which to end her story: “I’m sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you, I love you.”
Crisis support is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 9-8-8 from anywhere in Canada or the US.
If you have experienced a suicide loss, support is available. For resources, contact information, and more details about the suicide grief support offered by the Crisis Centre, see our Suicide Grief Support page.
Our bereavement program relies on donations. If you feel called to, you can make a contribution here.
We are sharing personal stories from those who have experienced suicide grief. These reflections may offer connection, comfort, or a sense of understanding to others navigating a similar loss. This is one story in our series. You can find all of our stories on our updates page.
This story discusses themes that readers may find upsetting. If you or someone you know is struggling or needs help, support is available.
There is no model for grief, each experience is singular. A dichotomy can exist when we find a community based on shared experiences. There is of course comfort to be found in communal storytelling, but one can also feel isolated by the differences in each individual’s story. Dustine often finds herself navigating the gaps these differences cause. The story of her eldest daughter, Avery, challenges our biases surrounding suicide in young adults. There was no catalyst, no long history of mental health issues and no childhood trauma. When Avery’s mental health did noticeably decline, it happened quickly and acutely, the way it might with a physical illness that had long gone undetected.
Avery’s family often joked she was “not like other girls”. Her mother, Dustine would later specify that she wasn’t like anyone else, period. A complete individual, Avery was headstrong, independent, and a fierce defender of human rights and social justice.
Dustine, a former English teacher used her love of literature as a foundation for how she parented her two daughters. When Avery quickly surpassed her grade’s reading level, Dustine turned to the classics, eager to share the timeless stories that have inspired generations of young women: Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, The Secret Garden— of which Avery was so fond that at the age of eight she attended a university lecture on the novel with Dustine, who was taking a course in children’s literature for her undergraduate degree.
Avery in the Palace of Versailles
The summer before Avery was to start the International Baccalaureate program, (an advanced placement education opportunity) her family took a vacation to France and Italy. It was a first for all of them, as well as an opportunity to explore the world of the novels and real world history that Avery was drawn towards. In France, Avery was particularly fond of the Palace of Versailles, which she had learned about in social studies the year prior. Dustine recalls that the first photo she took at the palace was not of the building or grounds itself, but of Avery observing the Palace of Versailles for the first time— her face transfixed with wonder. And in the city of Florence, the two of them split off for a day, learning alongside one another as they wandered the endless maze of churches and museums that unfolded across the city. Dustine was immensely proud of her daughter. “Avery absorbed everything. I’ve never known anyone as capable of learning as she was.”
It was no surprise that Avery went on to study biology with a minor in anthropology at UVIC under a full scholarship. Not only was she influenced by literature and the arts, she was also driven by the pursuit of facts and truth. Avery had little patience for façades and pretenses, the little stories we all tell ourselves to feel better. This philosophy would wind up weaving its way into how Dustine would examine and present her grief.
For Dustine, the initial feelings of grief presented as shock and derealization— a complex storm of competing emotions and thoughts. Then of course came the shame and guilt. The thoughts of what could I have done to prevent this? What will people in our community think? “You look back and can see all the red flags. You replay all your decisions and every conversation.” There was even an instinct to hide the truth, to sweep the whole thing under the rug and stay silent. But as Dustine stated many times in our conversation, Avery would have rolled her eyes at the whole thing; she had zero tolerance for lies and secrecy, she would have wanted them to lead with honesty, no matter how painful.
In the weeks and months after Avery’s death, the family took solace in isolating together as a unit. Curled up together in the den, they binged hours of television. Planet Earth, Stranger Things, Hell’s Kitchen— the programs blurred together in a string of moving images and sound. But amidst the fog, they made sure to give one another the space, both physical and emotional, to say and feel whatever they pleased. There were no boundaries placed on their communications, a facet that contributes to the family’s closeness both pre and post loss.
Getting back into a semblance of a routine happened gradually for Dustine. It’s still an ongoing transition— one that has no linear path. Describing the disorientation of trauma, she pulls upon an image from the novel Switch by author A.S. King, who also lost her daughter to suicide. In the novel, the flow of natural time has stopped, leading people to record time in strange ways, one of which being a house that turns itself upside down in quarter measures. For Dustine, there was a sense of having to leave her upside down world at home and return to a right-side up world. When she began to attend social gatherings or slowly dip her toes back into work, she was leaving a space of safe, physical isolation and entering into a world of emotional isolation. Dustine is fortunate to have many close friends she describes as an extension of her family, and yet that closeness is the very thing that can highlight one’s grief. Barbecues and birthdays become painful reminders that your own family picture is now incomplete. An unspoken tension builds throughout the events, and afterwards, at home, the grief comes in waves. It takes an immense amount of effort to return to the spaces that once seemed so joyful; so normal.
It was this same author that started the process of connecting Dustine to other loss survivors. She had initially followed A.S. King as an English teacher interested in the author’s work, but after Avery’s passing, Dustine saw a post by the writer discussing the complicated nature of “suicide prevention” on suicide loss survivors. Dustine reached out to King, who connected her with The Leftover Pieces Podcast and support group. With time, Dustine expanded her network of aid by joining a support group offered by the Crisis Centre, as well as a virtual group of mothers who had lost their children to suicide— all of which were instrumental in helping Dustine feel less alone and understood. The support she received in her various networks was instrumental in her early grief journey and allowed her to begin the ongoing, difficult transition back to the world of routine.
There was a time when Dustine couldn’t imagine returning to the school she taught at prior to Avery’s death. In 2019, she had transitioned from being an English teacher to a support teacher, a role that put her face to face with the litany of struggles faced by our youth. One can imagine the series of triggers that could arise from returning to such a role. It wasn’t an easy transition, but gradually through the support of her co-workers and routine of the work, she returned to the teacher she always was and still is.
Again, Dustine turns to art to illustrate her emotions. In the TV show Severance, the lead character Mark undergoes a medical procedure that severs his brain, ensuring he retains no memories of the outside world while at work, and has no recollection of his job once he leaves. Fittingly, Mark signs up for the procedure to escape the grief he feels over the death of his wife. When Dustine rewatched the show recently, she was struck by the image of Mark in the elevator, his work-self coming into his body. To some extent we all subsume a work identity, but for people experiencing grief, your work-self can become an avatar separate from your internal world. Your grief is compartmentalized, left waiting for you in the elevator or car ride home.
“I don’t ever not want to break down. I don’t ever not want to be sad. I don’t ever not want to feel the absence.”
Of course in grief there truly is no forgetting, nor would Dustine ever want to move on. “I don’t ever not want to break down. I don’t ever not want to be sad. I don’t ever not want to feel the absence. It sucks to feel so shitty, but I don’t know if it’s something I want to get better from.”
There will always be an absence a person once occupied, but perhaps there is solace to be found in the feeling, no matter how painful. Pain, after all, coexists with remembering. And who would want to forget Avery and the impact she had on her family and community at large?
Dustine is still on a journey of figuring out how best to honour Avery. She journals to her often, and more often still filters world events through Avery’s lens. How would someone preoccupied with truth and justice feel about the chaos that has descended over our systems of government? Dustine makes an effort to continue Avery’s activism, working with local charities and staying properly informed, while understanding her own limits and sanity in battling injustices.
Avery’s legacy is and will be much greater than what I can possibly communicate in this piece, but if there’s one thing we can learn from her it’s to be honest and direct, even when discussing something as painful and complicated as suicide. When asked about supporting those grieving suicide loss, Dustine urges them to “practice being comfortable with the uncomfortable” and to “sit with the discomfort of pain that has no cure.” There are no platitudes that will make the pain of grief subside, there are no easy answers, but in sharing our stories, in building bridges of understanding, we chip away at the stigma that surrounds suicide. We honour the truth.
Crisis support is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, call or text 9-8-8 from anywhere in Canada or the US.
If you have experienced a suicide loss, support is available. For resources, contact information, and more details about the suicide grief support offered by the Crisis Centre, see our Suicide Grief Support page.
Our bereavement program relies on donations. If you feel called to, you can make a contribution here.
We’ve been deeply moved by the feedback we’ve received from people who have called the lines, attended a youth workshop, or attended our bereavement events. We wanted to share some of their words with you:
From our Bereavement Program:
“I genuinely appreciate that these offerings are more available, that there are opportunities now each month. It means a great deal to feel connection with those that understand the complexity of suicide grief. I have always appreciated Jesse and his compassionate and validating presence and wish I could attend more often, but just knowing it’s there helps reduce the isolation in my grief.”
“Thank you so much for providing this experience. When my brother died by suicide 10 years ago all I wanted was to find other siblings who experienced the same thing and I couldn’t find any groups or people who had gone through it. This means a lot to me and makes a huge difference in my life. I appreciate the skilled, warm facilitation and easygoing vibe of the group.”
“I appreciated to have the opportunity to join this walk. I was made comfortable with all the facilitators who were gentle and kind, creating a safe feeling. I appreciated the format with introductions, the grounding and the plan with guidelines. I needed the grounding and found it helpful to begin. To have two separate walking partners was appreciated, to meet people and share within such a calming atmosphere in nature. Gathering together allowed me to feel a bit less alone in my grief. Seeing others who also feel this particular traumatic grief mirrored my pain which was of comfort. To experience connection was important.”
“I really liked the presenters, they had really good information and lived experiences. They sounded like they really knew what they were talking about. Coming from someone who has had some really tough experiences with my mental health this was super helpful.”
“I actually need something like this in my life. I learned ways to care about myself.”
“I have hosted your team a few times now and always get good feedback. I think breaking down the stigma by just talking about these topics is so important. The facilitators are always very friendly, warm, and flexible with each group that we have.”
These testimonials are a powerful reminder of the difference our donors make. Because of your kindness, young people are learning crucial skills for their wellbeing, those in crisis find a lifeline, and those navigating the unimaginable pain of loss find belonging and support. If you wish to support us, your gift is always welcome, and will allow us to take even more calls, reach even more young people, and continue offering our bereavement events and support groups.
This story contains explicit mentions of suicidality and the impacts of suicide.
Jessica sits on the edge of her bed, the world a blur of despair. The thoughts had been swirling for weeks, but tonight, they were deafening. “It would be better if I wasn’t here,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face. Overwhelmed and afraid, she dials 911.
Police arrive and transport Jessica to the emergency room. Jessica feels shame being walked out to the police car, and fears her neighbours will think she is being arrested. In a busy, loud emergency room, the bright lights and sterile environment do little to ease her distress. After hours of waiting, a doctor finally sees her. She recounted her thoughts, her feelings of hopelessness.
“Are you planning to harm yourself right now?” the doctor asked.
“I… don’t know,” Jessica stammered, her voice trembling.
After a brief assessment, the doctor concludes that Jessica doesn’t meet the threshold for admission. “You’re experiencing significant distress,” he tells her, “but you’re not in immediate danger. Here’s a pamphlet on mental health resources. Please follow up with your family doctor.”
Jessica is discharged, the pamphlet crumpled in her pocket. She finds her own way home, alone once more. Without any immediate follow-up or support, Jessica’s despair intensifies. She wonders if she has to actually attempt to kill herself to be taken seriously.
Another Path: The Continuum of Care
As before, the 911 operator answers, and Jessica, through tears, tries to convey her distress. The operator, trained in crisis intervention protocols, recognizes the signs of a mental health emergency.
“Jessica,” the operator says calmly, “I understand you’re going through a very difficult time. We want to get you the right kind of support. I’m going to connect you with the Crisis Centre of BC.”
The 911 operator facilitates a warm transfer, directly connecting Jessica to the Crisis Centre. A calm, compassionate voice answers. “Crisis Centre, how can I help you?”
Jessica pours out her heart about her fears, her feelings of hopelessness. The responder listens patiently, validating her emotions. They don’t dismiss her pain, but acknowledge its reality. They ask about her safety plan, and if she has any support people.
The responder helps her explore coping strategies, offering practical advice and emotional support. They talk about her feelings, her triggers, and her strengths. They work with her to create a safety plan.
“You’re not alone,” they reassure her. “We’re here for you. We can connect you with follow-up support, including mental health services and community resources.”
Instead of being discharged into a void, Jessica receives a referral to a community-based support program. She is offered a follow up call from the crisis line the next day. She feels seen and supported.
The crisis line, acting as a crucial first point of contact, de-escalates the immediate crisis. The follow-up support ensures that Jessica receives the ongoing care she needs, preventing a potential suicide attempt.
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Crisis lines are available across British Columbia 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, please call:
A transportation agency in the Lower Mainland has partnered with the Crisis Centre to train employees with our two-dayASIST workshop. The aim is to provide workers with the skills and training to handle difficult situations that arise while on the job, as well as identifying and giving them the support necessary to process any emotions or past traumas. The partnership has proved so successful, that after running several ASIST sessions in late 2024, more have been scheduled and are underway in 2025.
Many who work with the public could benefit from taking a training like ASIST. It is not hard to imagine many types of frontline jobs in Vancouver that are not considered “first responders,” yet workers find themselves in situations where ASIST may serve as an incredibly beneficial tool.
We asked a spokesperson a few questions about their experience and motivations behind working with the Crisis Centre.
Can you describe your motivations behind partnering with the Crisis Centre of BC to provide this training?
At the beginning of trying to obtain applied suicide skills intervention training, I reviewed all possible opportunities from across Canada and US providers. Upon reviewing the qualifications and the local knowledge of the trainers from the Crisis Centre of BC, the decision became very evident that this was the provider who would deliver training at a high level of expertise, and would be able to adjust and pivot based on the diverse industry exposure that I was coordinating for.
What was your experience like working with the Crisis Centre and would you change anything?
From the moment that we started to work with the Crisis Centre, their attention to detail and passion shone through. The staff were thorough, detail-oriented, and always ensured that our needs were addressed. They worked to facilitate the best user experience possible. There is currently nothing that I would change regarding the staffing, logistics, customer service, or instructors.
What are the unique challenges faced by frontline workers in your industry in recognizing and responding to individuals in crisis?
While our frontline workers often respond to situations alongside fire, police, and ambulance personnel, they can sometimes be overlooked for the psychological impacts that they are exposed to. It takes a very progressive leader to be able to identify the vicarious trauma that can occur for those who are working alongside first responders who “didn’t sign up” for exposure to traumatic events. The unique challenge for this workforce is that they are continually exposed to the area which the trauma originated resulting in a higher likelihood of reliving the traumatic event. The key is to aid our staff in processing the emotions and feelings and get all the support they need.
How do you feel it will impact Lower Mainland communities to have your staff trained in the skills that ASIST teaches?
The worth of having trained personnel in various areas of the community in which we serve is invaluable. Knowing that if a person is in crisis, we have the resources, the aptitude, and the willingness to help those in our community. The intrinsic rewards to each of our staff knowing they can help someone in need is invaluable.
How has the training impacted your employees? Have you noticed any changes?
The training has positively impacted our staff on many levels. We have had members of our staff already utilize the ASIST skill sets they learned in the classroom and have applied it in the field. Additionally, it has brought to light that we have staff who have not yet processed unresolved traumas associated with past experiences. This has given us the opportunity to assist them in getting the resources and the supports they need, though later than they realized, and now even more valuable to process.
Has anything surprised you about how your staff has responded to having to take training related to suicide and suicide prevention?
Initially I was skeptical about some of our “old school” mentality of employees adopting this new and open way to communicate with others about mental health and providing a positive environment in which to process crises. The uptake in our organization and the promotion of this course to their peers has been uplifting and a welcome change in the overall culture of our organization.
What are the long-term goals for this partnership and how do you envision expanding or improving the training program in the future?
Initially, the training has been focused on frontline staff that have immediate day-to-day interactions with customers; the proposed future direction is to expand this to all staff. Additionally, we are looking to have this as a mandatory prerequisite for those who are hired into a role that has the potential to be exposed to trauma or crisis events.
What advice would you give to other workplaces that serve the public, who are considering implementing similar training programs?
My advice to other workplaces that are looking to provide not only support to their staff, but to have an impact in our communities is to realize that when we want to be the catalyst for change we can be that small pebble in a pond that creates huge ripple effects In our community. I highly encourage everyone to look at this as an asset for not only your staff but those who could benefit from the outcomes of this training.
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Supporting those in crisis benefits entire communities. In times like these, wherea growing number of mental health care needs remain unmet, it becomes increasingly important for everyone, including workers who interact directly with the public, to recognize when another person is in crisis, and to know how to respond. One way we can help each other and ourselves is by learning how to deal with crises in our everyday lives – even in the workplace.
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Crisis lines are available across British Columbia 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you or someone you know needs help, please call:
9-8-8 (call or text)
310-6789 (no area code needed)
1-800-SUICIDE / 1-800-784-2433
604-872-3311
If you are interested in learning suicide prevention skills, you can:
Our ImpactThe topic and word "suicide" is not so scary after taking a training from the Crisis Centre of BC. I'm grateful to have been here today, and am hopeful that I can help people in the future.safeTALK participant, Agassiz
