How Austin’s love inspired a mother’s mission to bring suicide awareness into the light

When you meet Chrissy Davis, there is an immediate, disarming warmth in the room. Her eyes hold a soft, steady light, and her laughter comes easily—the kind of presence that instantly makes you want to pull up a chair, exhale, and stay awhile. You would never guess the quiet ache she carries beneath the surface. It is a sorrow that never truly leaves, the profound weight of a mother who has walked through the darkest valley of grief after losing her son, Austin, to suicide, and chose, day by day, to stitch that brokenness into relentless love. If you ever have the honor of sitting with her, do yourself a favor: ask her to tell you about her boy.

Austin entered the world on October 10, 2006, gifted with a spirit that words struggle to hold. Some children bounce through life absorbed in the shiny noise of growing up, but Austin was an old soul who felt every contour of the world around him. When his pastor wrapped an arm around him, he called Austin “the branch of God”—because when Austin hugged you, his arms tight around your neck, you felt an anchoring, divine comfort that made whatever burden you carried seem suddenly lighter.

That massive heart showed up when he was barely big enough to reach the counter. At five or six years old, he had earned a few crumpled dollar bills. In the wide, innocent eyes of a little boy, those crinkled bills felt like the entire world. Most children would have sprinted to the toy aisle or pressed their faces against a candy glass case. Austin didn’t hesitate. Spotting a homeless man standing on the sidewalk, he walked right up to him, looked him in the eyes, and pressed every cent he had into the stranger’s open hands. He was wise in ways that adults spend lifetimes trying to understand: he simply knew that love was meant to be given away.

When Austin’s life was tragically cut short by suicide on March 30, 2020, the world lost a bright, compassionate light, but his family made a sacred vow never to let the darkness have the final say.

Today, that same selfless love has been woven into the fabric of our state through South Carolina House Bill 5520, officially establishing You Matter Day. The framed bill currently rests within the brick walls of Palmetto Middle School, waiting to take its permanent place where generations of young eyes will brush past it each morning. It is a monumental milestone, but Chrissy will tell you with tears in her voice that she could never have stood on this side of survival alone. Without the steady, unbreakable support of her husband, the embrace of the teachers and counselors, and the arms of a community that refused to let her fall, she could not have endured the crossing.

Long before ink ever met legislative parchment, that healing had already taken root in the echoing hallways of Palmetto Middle. Guided by the tender dedication of school counselor Ginger Phillips, You Matter Day grew from an ache to honor Austin into an annual movement of hope. Middle school can be a harsh, unforgiving place. Lockers slam shut, social pressures hum like static in the air, and children carry heavy, silent bruises that don’t show on their skin.

On You Matter Day, that atmosphere shifts completely. The halls become a sea of teal and purple shirts, the colors blending together as a visual promise of hope. Bright affirmation cards are taped over metal lockers, paper stickers are pressed onto shirts, and smiles are shared without hesitation. Framed photographs of Austin line the walls—capturing a bright-eyed boy whose smile still feels alive, reminding every child who walks beneath his gaze that they are seen, that kindness matters, and that they are never as alone as the darkness tells them they are.

Chrissy often describes our minds as a delicate garden. If you tend the soil with love, water it with honest words, and nurture the tender shoots, life flourishes. But if you ignore it, if you turn away because the work is hard, the weeds silently creep in, suffocating everything underneath. She speaks about this openly because she knows the deadly silence that surrounds mental health, and she refuses to let stigma choke out another young life.

Her advice to parents comes from the marrow of her bones: watch the quiet shifts. Notice when the laughter dims just a fraction, when an open bedroom door suddenly clicks shut, or when a child’s favorite passions are left collecting dust in the corner. Don’t be afraid to step into the uncomfortable spaces and ask the hard, terrifying questions. And above all, breathe through the small frustrations. What feels like a trivial meltdown or teenage drama to an adult can feel like the collapse of their entire universe to a child.

As the air turns cool each September, Suicide Prevention Awareness Month brings that truth into sharp, piercing focus. The reality is devastating: suicide remains the second leading cause of death for children and young teens between the ages of 10 and 14. Those are not abstract numbers printed on a page; they are the vacant seats at dinner tables, the empty spaces in school hallways, the bedrooms left exactly as they were, and the quiet grief of parents longing for one more goodnight hug.

Shining a light into that shadow is the only way forward. Austin’s love endures. You can feel it in the teal and purple ribboning through the halls, in the gentle hush of a parent finally listening with an open heart, and in the bright, luminous smile of a mother who carries her son’s legacy like a lantern through the night.

Where to find help and hope

If you or a young person in your life is hurting, overwhelmed, or having thoughts of suicide, you do not have to carry it alone. Support is free, confidential, and waiting 24/7:

• Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988, or chat at 988lifeline.org (available anytime, day or night).

• Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 to connect with a crisis counselor via text.

• The Trevor Project (for LGBTQ+ youth): Call 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678-678.

• SAMHSA National Helpline: Call 1-800-662-4357 for 24/7 treatment and mental health support.