OKLAHOMA CITY -- In a small, nondescript building not far from downtown, the telephone rings.

It's Wednesday evening around 6 p.m. "Anna" (it's not her real name) has just entered the call center -- a plain, utilitarian room with olive green walls, worn tan carpet and several cubicles.

Anna works part-time. She's dressed casually in jeans and a denim top. Her round, gentle face is framed beneath a head of silver white hair.

"Heartline," she says, as she picks up the phone.

The voice on the other end belongs to a 36-year-old woman. The woman is married, with no kids. The woman says she wants to end her pain. The woman cries and says she can't deal with her life anymore.

The woman wants to kill herself.

In the office, Anna sits quietly.

Speaking in a gentle, soothing voice, Anna reassures the frightened caller. She asks a few, simple questions and then listens intently as the woman pours out her soul.

Anna makes no judgements about character, or beliefs or the reasons behind the woman's call. She assumes nothing. All she knows is that, somewhere, the woman has grasped at a small rope.

And, at the other end, Anna is holding tight.

"It's OK to cry," she tells the caller. "I want you to let out all of your feelings, so you'll feel better."

At the other end, the woman says her mother recently died. Anna listens. She says she understands the woman's pain. After a few minutes Anna asks the woman if she has "a plan." The question is designed to find out if the woman has actually planned her own death. It's a sign for those in the business that more help is needed.

Anna smiles when the woman answers "no."

"I'm very glad to hear that," she says.

The woman continues. She speaks about her mistakes, and her struggles and how she hurts. But, she adds, she doesn't want to hurt those she loves.

Anna takes advantage of the opening. "Have you thought about how this would affect them?" The woman says she hadn't stopped to consider what her death would mean to those who love her.

"No," she answers.

"The scars would be deep," Anna says.

It's then, in that brief moment, the conversation changes. And somewhere, unnoticed by the hustle of Oklahoma City, Anna saves a life.

Welcome to Heartline -- Oklahoma's suicide prevention hotline.

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Across the nation the numbers are staggering.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, suicide was the 11th leading cause of death in the United States, in 2000. That year, 29,350 people took their own lives.

Among youth, nationwide, suicide is the third leading cause of death for people 15 to 24 years old.

In Oklahoma, statistics for 2005 show 509 people completed suicide. In 2008, the state ranked 14th in the nation in self-inflicted deaths.

Statewide, suicide is the second leading cause of death for people 15 to 24, and the leading cause of death for the elderly.

In Cleveland County, according to 2001 data from the state Department of Health, the number of suicides outranked both homicides and deaths caused by motor vehicles.

But suicide, one expert says, isn't about death.

"It's about easing the pain," said Tom Taylor, Heartline's Director of Development and Outreach. "It's about making the pain stop. It's not about death. Usually someone feels alone and they have a sense of loss -- money, divorce or something like that. The person is in pain."

And across the country, Taylor said, many people feel hopeless and unable to deal with their lives.

While data is still being compiled, Taylor said calls to Heartline have increased by 27 percent over last year. Calls to the Heartline-operated 211 human services referral number are up by more than 62 percent.

"We've seen some notable figures take their own lives in the past 90 days," Taylor said. "People's coping mechanism are being taxed more, and people don't know their options. When that happens, they suffer."

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Anna and the caller talk for more than 30 minutes.

Yet, somehow, during that time, the pair forge a contract -- the caller comes to realize that this gentle woman on the other end of the telephone really does care.

She's not just a voice, she's a person.

"It's important that people know you care about them," Anna says. "They have to have faith that you are really listening."

That compassion is evident when the telephone rings again, just five minutes later.

"Heartline Okahoma," Anna says.

Another caller struggling; another caller thinking suicide.

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Founded in 1971, Heartline -- originally known as the Contact Crisis Helpline -- is a nonprofit, around-the-clock hotline to assist people with "whatever crisis they are in."

"We changed our name in 2005," Taylor said. "And that's when we brought in the 211 Health and Human Services line."

Operating of a tiny budget, Heartline's 18 employees and 40-plus volunteers are voices at the other end of the phone. Sometimes they are the only ones listening.

"We service nine counties," Taylor said. "With Cleveland County and Oklahoma County the largest."

The staff stays busy.

In 2008, Taylor said, Heartline's counselors handled about 4,000 suicide prevention calls and more than 95,000 211 and care line calls.

So far this year, that number is up by 27 percent.

Taylor said the calls come from all over. "We want people to call," he said. "As our call volume goes up, it's our hope that people are reaching out and finding ways to connect. It's when they think there's no option that they try to end their pain."

The key to suicide prevention, he said, is easing and purging that pain, getting people to talk about why they are so upset, "so they don't feel suicidal."

To do that, Heartline provides around-the-clock confidential counseling.

"We actually try to focus on the person's reasons for dying," Taylor said. "We want to focus on what made that person call us today, what made them call the hotline. We want to know what has driven them to the edge."

Part of the goal, he said, is "to make people know they are being listened to."

The job is anything but easy.

Both staff and volunteers are required to complete more than 60 hours of training, and for those who work the call center, the shifts can be long, arduous and emotionally draining.

"This is a tough, tough job," Taylor said. "Our counselors have to be compassionate and non-judgemental. When the suicide number rings it's answered first, because it's the priority -- and the issues are intense."

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It was a telephone call Taylor said he won't ever forget.

"It was heartwrenching. I was working the phones one evening when a gentleman called. He was a single dad with two kids. He had a job making more than $100,000 per year, but he'd lost it. Then his unemployment ran out. He never had a need for Health and Human Services or other assistance. And by the time he called us he was desperate. He said he didn't know where else to go; you could hear the desperation in his voice."

Taylor would spend a long time on the telephone that night. But, eventually, the caller realized there was hope and that suicide wasn't the way to solve his problem.

"Eventually, the conversation came around to his children. We could give him options, but he said he was still ashamed he needed to ask for help. It was gutwrenching," he said. "But when we ended, the kids were his reason to live."

Taylor has seen that reaction before.

"For some people the public humilitation is more than they can take. We're probably not going to be able to solve all their problems, but we can make sure they know they're not alone. We can listen. We can take away the stigma."

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It wasn't a call about suicide, but domestic abuse. A mother seeking refuge. Frightened, alone and desperate.

Like its suicide number, Heartline-211, is there, too.

"We'll take as much time as they need," Taylor said. "Sometimes our calls last a few minutes, or half an hour, or an hour and a half. It's whatever the person needs to talk about."

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For a short time, the small office is quiet. Anna, her partner Misti, and Scott, another staff member, take the time to decompress, relax and talk. They file their reports, log their calls and wait for the phone to ring again.

They've never see the faces of thse people the've helped.

But they know they've made a difference.

"I've become a lot wiser about humans," Anna said. "This job has taught me a lot and it's let me help people."

For Taylor, success means, simply, making a connection.

"We teach our counselors the fact that caller and conselor came to an agreement is a success. If the caller felt empowered to seek additional help, to us that's success. We don't know what's going to happen to that person in 15 minutes or five years ... it's based on what the caller needs and wants."

And while the counserlors will ask permission to follow up with a caller, many times, that premission isn't granted.

"Occasionally, we hear yes, but not always."

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By 7 p.m. the sun is fading. Most Oklahomans are ending their work day. But here, in the plain building with the olive-drab walls and the well-used furniture, the phone rings again.

And, just like before, the caller is desperate.

M. Scott Carter 366-3545 scarter@normantranscript.com