Jason’s Story: A Boise Family, a Father’s Love, and the Mental Health Crisis We Can’t Ignore
If you live in Boise long enough, you start to recognize a certain kind of guy.
He’s the one who shows up early to help set up chairs. The one who works with his hands all day and still has energy left for the kids at night. The one who jokes loud, hugs big, loves hard, and never seems to need anything in return.
Jason was that guy.
He was a 6’2'', muscular, construction-working, EDM-loving “man’s man” who also happened to be the fun dad, the romantic fiancé at the Garden Aglow proposal, the guy dancing his heart out at sober raves, and the person who made everyone around him feel seen and loved.
And yet, inside, his mental health was slowly collapsing.
This is the story of how a family who did everything they knew how to do still lost the person they loved most – and why Kelsee, his wife, is sharing their story in the hope that it saves somebody else.
There’s mention of suicide and mental health in what follows. If you’re struggling, please know there’s help at the bottom of this story. You matter more than you know.
Meet Jason and Kelsee
Kelsee met Jason at church.
He was big, loud, and… kind of hard to miss. He loved electronic music and sober raves – the kind where it’s just people, beats, and community, no substances involved. He’d dance with his whole body, this huge guy lost in the joy of it.
He noticed her curly hair and commented on it. She got shy and ducked away. Most people would take the hint. Jason didn’t.
He kept showing up. Kept making her feel special. When he proposed, he did it at the Garden Aglow at the Idaho Botanical Garden. The ring he chose looked like something she would have picked herself. He knew her that well.
That’s one of the quiet heartbreaks of losing a spouse to mental illness: they know parts of you no one else does. Losing them isn’t just losing a person – it’s losing the one who carried entire pieces of your story in their head.
Jason was also a dad of three. To his 10-year-old, his 7-year-old, and the baby who’s not even two yet, he was everything. The fun dad. The present dad. The dad who came home and gave them his full attention. The dad who bragged about them to everyone.
If you stopped the story there, Jason would look like a success: strong, loved, surrounded by community.
But mental illness doesn’t care how strong or loved you are.
When a Bright Light Starts to Dim
Jason’s decline didn’t happen overnight. It came on slowly, quietly, in the way mental health often does.
For him, so much of it centered on identity and feeling “good enough.” He wrestled with intense religious guilt and intrusive thoughts – what Kelsee believes was a form of religious OCD, where he constantly questioned whether he was living up to what God expected of him.
Then the isolation started.
He began to pull away from close friends. He became convinced people were talking about him, judging him, turning against him. He stopped responding. Stopped showing up. One by one, the connections that had always fed him started to drop away.
Looking back, Kelsee can see that isolation was one of the biggest red flags.
We often think of depression and mental illness as someone crying all day, or talking openly about wanting to die. But for a lot of men, it looks like this instead:
Pulling back from friends and family
Being convinced people are against them
Feeling like a burden
Going quiet when they used to be loud
Jason had good days and bad days – peaks where he seemed okay and valleys where everything crashed. That up-and-down cycle made it easy to think, “Maybe this is passing. Maybe it’s getting better.” But looking back, the overall line was trending downward the whole time.
He was fighting a battle every single day.
When Help Isn’t Easy to Find…
When Kelsee talked about the early years of Jason’s struggle, what stood out wasn’t something she “should have done.” It was how hard it was, even as a loving, attentive spouse, to understand what to do and where to turn. And that’s not unique to her family. Idaho families run into this every single day.
Idaho consistently ranks among the bottom states for mental-health access, especially for adults. The state has:
one of the lowest ratios of mental-health providers per capita in the U.S.
long wait times for evaluations and therapy
limited crisis stabilization centers (some Idaho counties have none)
major rural gaps, where entire communities don’t have mental-health clinicians
inconsistent coordination between crisis lines, law enforcement, hospitals, and clinicians
Families often share the same experience Kelsee did:
they see changes, they know something is wrong, but they don’t have a clear roadmap for what the next step should be.
Even calling for help can be confusing. Many Idaho families don’t know when to call 988 versus 911, or what actually happens after you call either number. Idaho’s own health assessments report that families often feel “lost in the system” and unsure how to navigate available services.
Mental health doesn’t come with instructions.
There’s no obvious checklist that tells you, “This is urgent,” or “This is when you seek a crisis evaluation,” or “This is the exact door to knock on.”
And for men especially, the culture makes it harder. They are taught to power through, keep struggles private, and not “burden” loved ones. Families try to honor that privacy. They try not to betray trust. They hope things will get better with time or faith or rest.
But mental illness doesn’t resolve in silence.
It gets more complicated. It deepens. It hides behind good days and then crashes on the bad ones.
What happened to Jason wasn’t about a single moment or a missed sign. It was the reality that countless Idaho families face: a maze-like system, unclear pathways, limited access, cultural pressure to stay quiet, and warning signs that don’t always look like what people expect.
This Isn’t Just One Family’s Story: Idaho and Men’s Mental Health
Jason’s story is deeply personal, but it’s also a mirror of what’s happening across Idaho.
In 2022, Idaho had 441 deaths by suicide, with a death rate of about 27.2 per 100,000 people – significantly higher than the U.S. average.phd5.idaho.gov+1
Men make up the vast majority of those deaths. Nationally, almost 80% of people who die by suicide are male.Eagle Creek Ranch Recovery
Here in Idaho, public health data shows that men are at far greater risk than women, and veterans have suicide rates higher than the general population.Mental Health VA+2Southeastern Idaho Public Health+2 First responders and veterans are more likely to die by suicide than in the line of duty – a brutal statistic that says everything about how heavy the unseen load really is.Eastern Idaho Public Health+1
These aren’t just numbers.
They’re dads. Construction workers. Coaches. Worship leaders. Truck drivers. Veterans. Police officers. Firefighters. Franchise owners. Boise State fans. The guy at your gym who spots your bench press.
Guys like Jason.
Guys who are told to be tough, be grateful, be strong, be quiet, be providers, be protectors – and who quietly implode under the weight of it all.
Doug Martin and the Hidden Battles of “Successful” Men
In 2025, Boise and the broader football community were stunned by the death of Doug Martin – former Boise State star and NFL running back. He died at 36 after a mental-health crisis led to a disoriented break-in at a neighbor’s home in Oakland and a brief struggle while being detained by police. He became unresponsive in custody and later died at the hospital.
After his death, his family shared that Doug had been privately battling serious mental health challenges that affected both his personal life and his football career. They had been actively trying to get him help.
That matters here in Boise.
Because if a two-time Pro Bowl running back with national name recognition, a history-making Boise State legacy, and an entire support system can get swallowed by untreated mental illness, what does that say for the guys who don’t have cameras, agents, or headlines?
Jason and Doug’s stories are different in the details, but they echo the same thing:
Mental illness doesn’t care how strong, successful, talented, faithful, or loved you are. If it goes unaddressed, it can take everything.
Veterans, First Responders, and the Weight of Service
Boise and the Treasure Valley are home to thousands of veterans and first responders. Idaho has around 160,000 veterans, and while some recent data shows veteran suicide rates may be improving, they’re still tragically high. Nationwide, an estimated 17 veterans die by suicide every day.
On top of that, research shows that police, firefighters, and other first responders are at elevated risk for suicide compared with the general population. Chronic exposure to trauma, high stress, and a culture of toughness make it harder to ask for help.
Jason wasn’t a veteran or a first responder. But his story runs parallel to a lot of men in those spaces: strong exterior, internal war.
If you’re reading this and you’ve served, or you work in law enforcement, fire, EMS, or corrections – or you love somebody who does – this story is for you too.
Walking Kids Through Loss When Life Doesn’t Stop
In the middle of all this grief, there are three kids who still need breakfast, rides, homework help, hugs, and bedtime stories.
Life didn’t pause for Kelsee. It didn’t give her a bereavement bubble where everything else disappeared. She had to figure out how to tell her children that their dad had died, and why.
She sat them down with her own father and explained it as simply and honestly as she could: their dad’s brain was sick; the doctors tried to help him; he died.
Her son’s first worry wasn’t just about himself – it was whether anyone else was sad too. Kids pay attention to what adults do with their feelings. If we hide our grief, kids learn to hide theirs.
Kelsee realized her kids didn’t just need her to be strong; they needed her to be real.
So they grieve together. They cry together. They talk about Jason together.
Her youngest, not yet two, still feels the absence in a way she can’t fully explain. She hears “Dada” on a show and bursts into tears, saying, “I want Dada.” She doesn’t have all the words, but she knows who’s missing.
This is what suicide loss really looks like: not just a headline, not just a statistic, but a thousand small moments where someone’s absence is felt over and over again.
What Kelsee Wants You to Know
Kelsee didn’t come to The Good Network because she wanted money.
She came because she wanted awareness. She wanted other families to see what she didn’t see early enough. She wanted other men to hear what her husband couldn’t believe about himself.
She also wants the world to remember Jason as more than how he died.
He was a joyful raver who danced at sober shows.
A dad who bragged about his kids.
A husband who chose the perfect ring and proposed under Christmas lights.
A man of faith who wanted desperately to be “good enough.”
A human being whose brain got sick.
Her message to anyone who feels like Jason did is simple:
You matter. You are loved. You are needed here.
Mental illness will tell you the opposite. It will say your family doesn’t need you, that you’re a burden, that they’d be better off without you.
Those thoughts are lying.
If you are in that place, this is your sign to reach out – not later, not “when it gets worse,” not “once you figure it out.” Now.
If you love someone who might be in that place, this is your sign to check in. Ask the hard questions. Suggest counseling. Offer to sit with them, to help them make the call, to go to that first appointment.
You don’t have to fix them. You just have to help them not be alone.
If You’re in Crisis or Worried About Someone
Here are resources you can use or share right now:
Call or text 988 for the Idaho Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – 24/7
Veterans: Call 988 and press 1 or text 838255 for the Veterans Crisis Line Mental Health VA
Idaho Crisis Text Line: 208-398-4357 Eastern Idaho Public Health
NAMI Treasure Valley – support groups and education for families and individuals
St. Luke’s & Saint Alphonsus Behavioral Health services in the Treasure Valley
Local men’s support groups at churches, community centers, and recovery programs
If a guy in your life is withdrawing, talking about feeling like a burden, acting out of character, or cutting off relationships – take it seriously. You won’t “put the idea in their head” by asking about suicide; evidence shows asking directly can actually reduce risk by opening the door to help.
Why We’re Telling This Story
Jason’s story is not here to sensationalize anything. It’s here because behind every statistic is a family like this one, sitting in a living room, trying to find words to explain the impossible to their kids.
It’s here because men in Boise are still dying quietly, thinking they don’t matter.
It’s here because veterans and first responders in Idaho are still fighting battles long after their service ends.
And it’s here because Kelsee believes that sharing her pain publicly might mean another family never has to live through what hers has.
Jason mattered.
Doug Martin mattered.
Our veterans and first responders matter.
You matter.
Always.
