By Soul Survivors of Chicago
I wanted my son to turn 21. I wanted him to experience adulthood, to feel the joy of becoming, to live long enough to see that the world could hold space for his brilliance. But at 19 years old, my child died by suicide—two days after the murder of George Floyd—and my life, my work, and my understanding of the mental health system changed forever.
Long before that devastating day, I was a Licensed Clinical Social Worker doing everything I could to support children and families in Chicago navigate trauma. I believed in the power of intervention, in wraparound care, in community. But nothing prepared me for the moment my own son—at just 12 years old—was bullied so severely that he attempted suicide. I remember sitting in the hospital, watching him be assessed and realizing how fragile our systems truly are. The gaps were everywhere: limited access to culturally grounded providers, long waits for psychiatric care, inconsistent follow‑up, and a lack of community‑based aftercare for families who were terrified and trying to keep their children alive.
As Black social workers, we know these barriers intimately. We see how structural racism shapes access, how stigma silences our youth, and how families are left to navigate crises without the support they deserve. My son’s death forced me to confront these truths not as a practitioner, but as a mother. And that grief became the foundation of Soul Survivors of Chicago, a movement rooted in prevention, advocacy, and the belief that our children’s lives matter.
Suicide prevention is a community responsibility. It requires culturally responsive care, early intervention, school‑based support, and systems that listen to Black families when we say our children are struggling. It requires us to build environments where our youth feel safe naming their pain, where parents are not dismissed, and where mental health is treated with the same urgency as any other life‑threatening condition.
I wanted him to turn 21. I wanted him to stay. And while I cannot change what happened, I can honor him by fighting for every child who still has a chance. My love for my son fuels my commitment to this work, and I stand in the belief that Black social workers are essential to transforming the mental health landscape for our youth.
May we continue to advocate fiercely. May we continue to build systems worthy of our children. May we continue to save lives—before another parent has to write a story like mine.
Rest in Paradise Jamal
Follow us at soulsurvivorsofchicago.org
In Solidarity,
Rafiah Maxie-Cole LCSW ACSW
Founder/Executive Director
Soul Survivors of Chicago, NP
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