Fred

“I’m So Thankful for This Place”

His NFL dreams dashed, Fred found new life at The Union Mission.

Whenever the Atlanta Falcons are on TV this football season, Fred will be watching with more than a little longing.

That could’ve been me, he’ll think. I could’ve made that play. 

But Fred never got that chance. Four years ago, was driving cross-country for a tryout with the NFL team. But somewhere in Kentucky, exhausted from days of driving, he fell asleep at the wheel and lost control.

His car went over the guardrail, and flipped multiple times down an embankment. By the time the car came to a standstill, Fred, grateful to still be alive, thought he could still make it to Atlanta for the tryouts.

But then he realized he couldn’t move his legs. His right leg was pinned in the wreckage. His left leg was . . . gone. It had been severed in the crash. Fred passed out.

When he woke up, he heard the monitors beeping around him and thought, Oh man, I’m alive! Over the ensuing hours, he came to realize the hard truth: He’d lost a leg and his shot at the NFL in the blink of an eye.

Still, Fred felt a sense of peace.

“Before I started driving to Atlanta, I said a prayer,” he says. “I prayed, God, I don’t know if you have it planned for me to make it to Georgia or not. But either way, I’ll follow you.”

Even with that faith, life took some major twists and turns. At first, good ones: He met a girl and fell in love. Within months they were married and she was pregnant with twin boys. She went to stay with her mom when she had the children, “and she never came back,” says Fred.

Then came the bad turns. Fred couldn’t find steady work. He had trouble getting disability insurance. He struggled with anxiety, depression, and PTSD.

One night in late 2022, Fred decided to end it all. He wrote a suicide note, leaving what little money he had with his ex and his twin sons. He even left instructions on how to take care of his dog.

His gun was loaded as he headed for the door. And then the phone rang. It was his best friend.

Fred ignored it. Then it rang again, the same friend. This time, he answered. “What’s up?” he said. The friend could immediately tell something wasn’t up.

“What’s going on?” the friend asked. “Are you okay?”

Fred didn’t say much. He cocked the gun. The friend heard it, and switched over to a video call. He said, “Dude, you look like death.”

The friend talked Fred down from the edge. Fred put the gun down, and they talked for three hours. Tragedy averted.

The friend said, “Something told me to call you at that moment. I didn’t know why. But now I do.”

Fred emptied the gun, put it in a bag, and buried it deep in his closet.

Things got better . . . briefly. Fred found a good job, a work-from-home gig. But he was in constant pain — mentally and physically. He smoked pot to numb it all. He was eventually let go from that job, and fell into depression. Unable to make rent, he was evicted. He couldn’t find any place to stay, so he slept in his car — with his dog — in a Walmart parking lot.

Finding Hope

When Fred first called the Mission, there weren’t any openings. He kept calling, and one particular staffer kept encouraging him to be persistent.

“He told me he had been through a process like I was going through,” Fred says. “He said, ‘I’ve been in your shoes. But I went to the shelter and turned things around. Now I work here at the shelter. Now I’m giving back.’”

Those conversations buoyed Fred. He felt hope again.

When he came through our doors early this year, he immediately felt like things were falling into place. Thanks to friends like you, his immediate needs were met with meals, clothes, and a bed.

Our team helped him get doctor’s appointments and meds to address his physical and emotional pain. We helped him pursue Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI).

And even though he’s still separated from his wife, he maintains a relationship with his twin sons, now 2. He calls them every night.

Fred is optimistic about his future, and he’s grateful for the Mission’s help — and yours.

“If it weren’t for the Mission, I’d probably be out on the street somewhere,” he says. “I’d probably be thinking about suicide again. So I praise God for the Mission. I’m so thankful for this place. It’s heaven-sent, for sure. Truly, I love this place.”

— Mark Moring for The Union Mission