By the time they walked into the familiar backyard together, my friend had not seen his father for several months. A few years back the young man's job had taken him out of state, but he managed a trip back to his childhood home to visit his widowed father at least twice a year. This was one of those trips.

As they had done so many times before on fragrant spring afternoons, Joe and his father made their way to the back of the house, with its ample yard and old trees. The younger man headed for his favorite shady spot under the large pecan tree that had been the setting of so many of his childhood memories. The tree was magical, transforming itself into everything from a fortress, to a pirate's look-out, and sometimes generously becoming a refuge when solitude was all he sought.

He walked toward the tree as people often do, only half aware of his surroundings because of the familiarity of it all. This was the very same ground he had walked hundreds of times before. So, it wasn't until he was halfway there that he realized the tree was gone. Nothing remained but a low unsightly stump, no tree, no shade, and for my friend, even more poignantly, no beloved childhood friend.

I imagine that this radical alteration to the family's backyard and the many connections the tree had represented was shocking enough, but I don't think anything could have prepared Joe for what came next. Stunned by the upsetting sight of the mutilated stump Joe faced his father, "Dad, what happened to the pecan tree?"

"Oh," his father answered almost too casually, "I asked the neighbor to come over with his power saw and cut it down." "Why?" Joe asked perplexed, "Was it sick, did it get Pecan Scab?" His father walked slowly to one of the lawn chairs and plopped down on it. "Nope."

"Then why?" Joe asked losing his patience. "My brothers and I loved that tree!" The old man hesitated and then explained.

As my friend tells the story, his father began recounting matter-of-factly how he had asked the neighbor to cut down the tree. The tree had almost become an accomplice in something that did not resemble a childhood game at all. Several days before, the old man had made his way to the hardware store and purchased a large coil of strong thick rope. Taking it to the yard he had worked on it carefully until he thought everything was ready, and then, looking up at the branches, he tried to select which one to use.

"I asked him to remove the tree," said the chronically sad man to his son, "because I was very close to hanging myself from it."

The son sat there trying to understand what he had just heard. His father wanted to die and had gone as far as making preparations for his suicide. His father was a good man, a man who believed in God; what was this about?! What was the son supposed to do now?

This is where I step into the story, since this is the question the son brought to me. What to do?

Just as my friend had to begin searching for help and trying to figure out what to do to help his father, there might be many of us, old, young, middle aged, who might find ourselves in a similar situation. Whether at one end of the spectrum toward the end of life, where grown children and a deceased spouse have left an elder with a radically empty house; or at the beginning of life's journey, where a teenage crush gone wrong leaves an otherwise healthy young person thinking they can no longer live, radical sadness, depression, hopelessness are very real feelings which demand our attention and which unchecked can lead to disastrous consequences.

As people who respect and cherish life, Christians are called to actively help in these instances. So, to help us enter this very complex subject which is really about the most difficult love of all --- the love of self --- I had a long conversation with Dr. Ann Claire Smith a clinical psychologist and therapist, who also holds a Masters in Divinity. Both psychologist and lay minister, Dr. Smith, now retired, volunteers her services at a hospice, a shelter for teen mothers and children, and a nursing home.

In next week's issue, I will summarize our conversation and the strategies Dr. Smith suggested for helping those around us who, like my friend and his father, may be facing acute depression and hopelessness. This is a difficult conversation we all need to have.

Cecilia González-Andrieu writes for The Tidings from The Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley where she is completing a doctorate in theology.