Air Force's Jacques Lamoureux battled back from the abyss

The pond across the street from the Lamoureuxs' house in Grand Forks, N.D., served as something of a sanctuary for the six hockey-playing siblings.

The four boys and twin girls would stash their skates and sticks in a nearby snow bank and - instead of walking to Sunday school - would dash to the pond for a quick scrimmage.

When Jacques, the second-oldest boy, joined an after-dinner game on Thanksgiving in 2003, they had no idea that an hour earlier he had parked at the top of a six-story garage, placed his goodbye letter on the dashboard and stepped onto the ledge.

They didn't know that was the night Jacques Lamoureux chose to live.

Though his depression nearly cost him his life and, subsequently, his dream to play hockey at Air Force, Lamoureux refused to give up.

Denied admission to the academy in 2006 because of his mental-health history, Lamoureux reapplied the following year after playing one season at Northern Michigan.

Coach Frank Serratore gave Lamoureux, 22, a "slim-to-none" chance of prevailing the second time around, but Air Force gave him medical clearance and admission.

With four fresh stitches in his chin from the previous night's game, Lamoureux - who sat out last season per NCAA transfer rules - reflected on his journey from the pond to the parking deck to the psychiatrist's office to playing Air Force hockey.

Pierre Lamoureux, who backstopped North Dakota to two national championships, taught his six kids to play hockey.

A close-knit bunch - the oldest, goaltender Jean-Philippe, is less than five years older than twin forwards Monique and Jocelyne - they lived at the rink in the winter and took to the street in the summer.

During his sophomore season, Jacques Lamoureux hoped to earn a spot on a junior hockey team. But things started to unravel that spring, after his high school team won the state championship.

"I put a lot of pressure on myself to play well," Jacques said. "I think in a lot of people's eyes I did play well, but I was never really satisfied, which isn't a terrible thing, if you keep it in context. Then, I had an issue with an old girlfriend. We broke up and I think it was just a lot at one time.

"Things just started going downhill for me and I didn't know how to handle it."

Away from the rink, the 15-year-old was suffering.

He stopped palling around with friends. His appetite diminished and he lost weight.
"My parents, once in a while, they'd find me crying for no reason," Jacques said.

One night, he told his mother, Linda, "Something's not right."

A visit to the emergency room was followed by appointments with a psychiatrist, who prescribed anti-depressants and anxiety medication.

"I didn't like being on them," he said. "I was like a zombie. I felt like I didn't have any feelings. I wanted to be happy, but if I was sad, then I wanted to be sad."

A month later, things hadn't improved. His youngest brother, Mario, now a freshman on North Dakota's hockey team, slept in Jacques' basement room to keep watch.

"It got to a point where I was feeling so bad that if I wanted to, I would sleep with my dad's shotgun, just in case I felt like doing it," said Jacques, who spent a week in a Grand Forks psychiatric ward after breaking down at school.

Home for Thanksgiving from Bismarck, N.D., where he'd been living with younger brother Pierre-Paul while they played junior hockey, Jacques became overwhelmed by the feelings that had been nagging him for eight months.

"I was really, really down," he said. "It was tough being back home. That was where all my problems originated from. I found myself standing on the edge of the parking ramp, thinking about jumping off."

For five minutes, thoughts of his family flooded his mind.

"I couldn't leave them with all of my problems, with the guilt of ‘We should have been able to do more, this is our fault,'" he said. "I couldn't do that to my family. I didn't necessarily do it for myself. I didn't do it because I didn't want to hurt them."

Jacques came down from the ledge, tucked the suicide note in the glove compartment, drove home and sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. Later that night, he flushed his medicine down the toilet.

"I decided, ‘I'm going to beat this by myself,'" he said.

Instead of bottling up his feelings, Jacques pushed himself to open up to his friends, his family and his therapist.

By the next summer, he felt normal again.

As a third-year player for Bismarck, Jacques was elected captain and recruited by Army and Air Force, where he was attracted to the schedule, the opportunities and the challenge.

Off the ice, Jacques presented his story to students in Bismarck and Grand Forks and as a speaker for a Pennsylvania chapter of Yellow Ribbon, an organization that works to prevent teen suicide.

When he committed, Jacques told Serratore about his history of depression.

In March, Serratore learned the Department of Defense's Medical Examination Review Board denied Jacques' application based on his mental health record. The academy doctors agreed with the decision.

So Serratore called an old friend, Northern Michigan coach Walt Kyle, on Jacques' behalf.

Jacques made the team, played 16 games and earned a 3.98 GPA as a freshman.

That March, he watched Air Force nearly topple Minnesota in the NCAA Tournament.

"I realized I should have been on that team," he said. "I could have been on that team."

A week later, Jacques got Kyle's blessing and called Serratore.

"I want to come," he said. "Can you get me in?"

Serratore made no promises.

Jacques passed a psychological exam and the academy doctors cleared him.

When Serratore called him with the good news, "it was emotional," Serratore said.

"This is where I was supposed to be," Jacques said last week, his eyes lighting up. "I have a great time here. I love it."

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Contact the writer: 476-4803 or kate.crandall@gazette.com