Near the end of World War II, a family approaches the border between France and Spain. Father, mother, young son, and grandmother present their documents to a guard. Because this coastal road is a popular escape route, he scrutinizes the papers closely. He seems to find a problem and asks the family to wait while he discusses it with his superiors. Now the father leads the family down onto the beach. "We will not allow them to send us back," he says. They nod. "We will hold hands and walk into the sea." He takes his wife's hand, they join hands with the grandmother, and they reach out for the son. But the son tries to break from their grasp. "No!” he screams, and he struggles, screaming as never before. So intent are they on their efforts to drag the boy into the water that they do not notice the guard until he is standing next to them. There was a mistake, says the guard. The papers are all in order. They proceed into Spain and take the last boat to America. One year later, I am born into this family. San Francisco Suicide Prevention is the place where I am able to see this miracle turn into thousands of miracles -- two hundred people helped every day by 150 local volunteers. Many if not most of the people who worked here have burst back into life through miracles of their own. The ability to say "Your pain has made you a very important person because you can now save the life of another," is the most joyful sound in the world. We are blessed here at SFSP.