"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
Suicide.
I'm choosing to be deliberately blunt and provocative in this post because it's necessary. Government, charities, football clubs are all pushing water up a hill in highlighting what is undoubtedly a major health crisis.
You take a rope.
You put it up in a garage or a tree nearby or far away.
You're thinking about every loved one you'll leave behind as you put that rope around your neck.
Then you drop.
Some are decapitated.
Some aren't.
All are found by someone who has a lifetime of trauma that will never leave them.
A son.
A daughter.
A brother.
A sister.
A mother.
A father.
I know 2 men who hung themselves.
One was found by his Mom.
One was found by his brother.
Neither have recovered fully. 20 and 30 years on.
A life sentence for people who were already worrying, terrified their loved one may do something.
So just visualise the above and ask, "is there another way"?
A segway for a moment.
I do a few Q&A's every year. Tales of yesterday with a 99% male audience of my age group.
After the stories and fun, my last question back to the audience is..
"Hands up if you struggle with a mental health issue".
Nobody ever puts a hand up. Despite 1 in every 3 of 500 attendees statistically struggling.
"Ah, nobody, that's fucking brilliant! Well I do! ". I then graphically tell people, stunned into silence about how a rope around my neck in the middle of nowhere jolted me to go home and cry like a baby to my Mom.
After the Q&A has finished, something always happens. I'll be chatting to a few guys, saying bye and one by one, men will come over and whisper " I struggle".
Or my mailbox the next day will have 30 emails from guys, their partners or kids saying " Dad/Uncle /Brother was there last night and what you said hit them hard".
And that's how some people realise that it's time to speak to a pal or family member or even rant to me in an email. It works, I often get a follow up email a year or 6 later saying that they took responsibility for their suicidal feelings and are now flying.
Humans are programmed to want to live, to have families and to keep the species growing and thriving. So for a human to want to short circuit that desire isn't normal, and it should never be spoken of as normal. It's the ultimate red flag.
If you suspect your mate, Dad, Brother, Uncle is struggling mentally, they deserve your intervention.
They deserve a " are you OK, please tell me what's up".
They deserve an opportunity to get past wanting to hang a rope over a tree or in a garage and slowly struggle until they die and you find them.
If you've been there and trust me I have plenty, then you'll know that text out of the blue, or a footie mate or one of your kids asking jow you are can open the curtains to some sunshine.
Because when suicide is your only answer, the room is already dark, and you can't see a way out.
So please, fucking pretty please, ask that husband, Dad, Uncle, Cousin, footie pal TODAY how they are.
You may be shocked what comes back but extremely glad that you asked.
For those who struggle, you're not alone.
This little girl is hilarious bless her. She has an apple and her water bottle in her backpack, "its like 2 kilos..... like a backpack in a backpack "🥰🤣
This young QPR fan is ill and his dream is to score a penalty at Loftus Road.
On Saturday, he was able to do that and was roared on by both QPR and Sheffield Wednesday fans.
The power of football 🥹💙💙
OK HERE WE GO https://t.co/NpykLC6GGV
I’ve always wanted to do the Jon Lewis ad but no one asked me so I kinda made my own 3 minute one in Sheffield
More importantly it’s to raise awareness and money for @samaritanscharity who are there for people 365 days a year .
Nobody should have to feel alone this Xmas
If you could share the video link and maybe give some money too then I would be much obliged
Thanks so much
Jon
OK HERE WE GO https://t.co/NpykLC6GGV
I’ve always wanted to do the Jon Lewis ad but no one asked me so I kinda made my own 3 minute one in Sheffield
More importantly it’s to raise awareness and money for @samaritanscharity who are there for people 365 days a year .
Nobody should have to feel alone this Xmas
If you could share the video link and maybe give some money too then I would be much obliged
Thanks so much
Jon