From Darkness to Hope: The Story Behind Burgers & Bands

By: Ann Brennan, Founder of Burgers & Bands for Suicide Prevention Awareness

When your child is depressed, the world becomes a very dark place. I have never felt as alone or as scared as I did during the three years my son fought for his life against depression. It wasn’t a bad mood or a phase. Depression is a life-threatening illness. It changed everything about our family: our routines, our sleep, our sense of safety. We spent nights waiting for phone calls, days in doctors’ offices, and more hours in emergency rooms than I ever thought possible.

There were nights when I lost hope entirely. I made a folder — because I’m practical and because I was terrified — with the things I thought I would need if we didn’t make it. The thought of making that folder still shuts me down when I think about it. That’s how deep the fear ran.

But Ethan fought. He showed a kind of courage I had never seen. He did not pretend everything was fine. He learned — painfully, bravely — that it was okay not to put on a brave face. He started to say what he felt. We had to learn to say what we felt, too. Saying it out loud, naming it, holding it together as a family — that’s how we survived.

One small but powerful thing Ethan did was keep a notecard in his pocket. On it, he wrote the names of people who would be sad if he died: his parents, his siblings, our dogs, even his math teacher, who would have to look at Ethan’s empty desk every day. When the lies of depression got loudest — “you’re a burden,” “there is no point,” “they’d be better off without you” — he read that card. He reminded himself that depression was lying. That card was his anchor.

Depression lies. It tells you the world would be better without you. It tells you no one would notice. It erases hope. That’s why our work is urgent. We had to find a way to shout back — to show the people we love that those lies are not the truth.

Searching for the Right Way to Help

Before Burgers & Bands existed, Ethan and I tried to make a difference the way we knew how: we walked. We did 24-hour, self-supported walks on the Greater Allegheny Passage — just the two of us — moving through the night with headlamps and determination. We raised money, but it didn’t change the conversation in the way we wanted. People handed us checks. They cheered us on. But they often left without a new understanding of what mental illness really feels like or without a sense of connection to someone who was actually living it.

We wanted more than fundraising. We wanted awareness. We wanted joy that made people feel brave enough to ask for help.

Why Burgers & Bands Is Different

I’d been to too many mental-health events where grief was the center — parents standing at podiums telling stories about children they had lost, rooms full of tears. Those events are vital; we honor the losses. But I wanted something else too: a place where hope could take the stage.

So we built Burgers & Bands around celebration — food, music, laughter, and community. We wanted people to leave buoyed, not broken; to feel less alone, not more exposed. Our events are about showing the world another way forward: survival, connection, and the possibility of joy even in the middle of the fight.

At our events, you’ll find kids dancing, neighbors trading stories, guitars tuning up, the smell of burgers on the grill, and people who’ve decided — out loud — to keep going. That sensory, human life is the opposite of the isolated the night walks we used to take. The difference is hope versus heavy grief; light versus darkness.

Real Stories — The Impact We’re Actually Making

At our very first Burgers & Bands, a parent called us the next day and said, “You don’t understand what that event meant to us — my son said he wanted to go to Sheppard Pratt after the event because he finally felt like it was okay to ask for help.” That young man volunteered with us for several years. One year, he didn’t show up because he was out doing something with friends — something his parents told us was a sign of how well he was doing. They said, “He no longer needs Burgers and Bands to anchor him to life.” Those are the moments that keep me going.

We’ve had parents who have lost children come to the event. They could easily devote their energy only to memorial efforts, but they come anyway — often becoming some of our biggest donors. They tell us the day brings them joy and purpose; they see the effect Burgers & Bands has on young people and families, and that gives them comfort.

One email I will never forget came from a mom who told me Burgers & Bands saved her life. She wrote that on the darkest day when she thought about ending things, she remembered the conversations we had about how depression lies, and she thought of the community she’d found among our volunteers. She reached out, found support, and stayed. If one life is different because we created something that prioritized hope and connection, then everything we’ve done has been worth it.

This isn’t just for teenagers or young adults. It’s for parents, spouses, neighbors, and friends — anyone who needs to know they’re not alone.

The People Who Make It Happen

From the very beginning, we’ve been surrounded by people who believed in the mission. Lee Priddy, of Priddy Music Academy, was our first sponsor and still fills our stages with an incredible line-up every year. Michael Kocher and George Evans bring music and light in ways that help people feel alive again. Bill Frazier, who started the Unplugged event through Charm City Run after losing a friend to suicide, brings a heart and a steady hand to our intimate September gathering.

Volunteers show up to cook, set up stages, greet families, and sit with people who need to talk. Musicians give their time and their talent. Donors support the programs. Everyone becomes part of a community that keeps one another alive.

A Picture of the Day

Imagine walking into the Severna Park Taphouse on the third Sunday in May. Kids are dancing in front of the stage. Grownups linger in the shade. Two outdoor stages play bands back to back — a soundtrack of people being alive. One inside stage, with acoustic acts runs all day long. The staff flip burgers, and someone you know hands you a soda and asks how your week went. You hear laughter. You feel seen.

Now imagine the opposite: the silent miles Ethan and I walked in the night, the cold air and the quiet. That’s the contrast. Burgers & Bands is the answer to loneliness. It’s a place to come when you need to be reminded that life can still hold joy.

What It Means to Me

Burgers & Bands is the tangible thing my family built from the pain and the fear. It’s our way to say both “thank you” — because Ethan made it through — and “we will not stand by” — because too many others still need help. It’s hope made visible.

When you come to Burgers & Bands, you’re not just attending an event. You’re standing with people who have leaned into their most honest moments and decided connection matters more than stigma. You’re choosing to believe that survival is possible.

If our story gives anyone reason to reach out, to ask for help, to pick up a notecard and write names on it, then telling it here is worth every painful memory.

To become part of the Burgers & Bands community, visit BurgersandBands.org.