RYE, New Hampshire -- Eli Robinson awoke from a medically induced coma last November, his sister and brother at his hospital bedside.
One week prior, Eli attempted suicide, jumping off the 150-foot-high Piscataqua River Bridge into the swift current below.
Instances of a person surviving a jump from the Interstate 95 span connecting Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to Kittery, Maine, are rare. Eli became one of the few, suffering a collapsed lung and several broken ribs.
Eli, 34, made a vow to his siblings.
"(Eli) said, 'I will never do that again. I will never do that again,'" Marta, his sister, tearfully recalled in a July 31 interview.
Duncan, their younger brother and a seven-year NBA veteran, told him: "'You don't understand. We cannot survive without you,'" Marta added. "And (Eli) goes, 'I promise I will never do that again.' It just shows you what an altered state he was in. I think subconsciously he just knew he couldn't keep going, but he was also just in such an altered mental state."
Eli heard voices, bad ones that warned of danger for his family. The voices were torturous and overbearing, an endless cycle in his mind. On Oct. 27, 2024, the day Eli stepped onto the bridge to take his own life, the voices had just told him to kill his father.
Marta Day, the eldest Robinson child, is a licensed mental health counselor and founder of Sage Couch Counseling in Rye. Duncan Robinson, one of the NBA's top 3-point shooters, recently signed with the Detroit Pistons after spending the first stretch of his professional career with the Miami Heat.
"There's an obvious, and I get it when somebody jumps off a bridge, there's a misconception that they're depressed or they don't want to live anymore. That was not the case with Eli, at all," Duncan said. "It more is speaking to the altered state, the paranoia he was going through, the torture in his brain of constantly navigating. He couldn't just sit on the couch. He was constantly negotiating, (wondering), 'Is my family safe? Am I going to hurt my family?' These voices, he couldn't do it anymore. For the record, he did it for a long time."
Eli survived that long fall into the river, but so did the voices.
Eli was many things. He was a graduate of Governor's Academy in Massachusetts and a local Joe's New York Pizza employee. He had given up drinking and smoking marijuana and was nearly four years sober. He was a doting uncle, the son of a family nurse practitioner and a retired teacher, and was loyal to his family. He loved rap, drank Spindrifts, wore flannel and befriended animals and people from all walks of life. Eli was candid about his mental health struggles after his schizophrenia diagnosis.
"Eli was a journey unto himself," said his mother, Elisabeth Robinson. "He was very frustrating and very lovable, smart and creative and funny. I'd say, 'How are you doing today?' He'd go, 'Mom, I'm good.' Big smile. And he'd go, 'I haven't had a voice today.' Then he'd just envelop me in this beautiful, papa (bear), big guy way."
As a child, Eli made up elaborate games for him and his siblings to play. Elisabeth remembers Eli making forts around their house. They adopted animals he adored, making for a childhood full of dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, hamsters and even a snake. Late to the airport during a family trip to Florida, Eli made the family pull over on the freeway when he noticed a gecko barely hanging onto the windshield of their car.
The family described Eli as loyal and noble from a young age. "Total gangster, total soldier," his father, Jeffrey Robinson, stated.
In New Castle, the New Hampshire island town where the Robinsons lived, Eli once solely took blame for an egging incident nearby, despite his friends sitting alongside him holding eggs during his confession. He once lied to high school administrators and took the fall when a student cheated off his work, knowing his peer would face harsher repercussions if the truth came out.
"He'd just take it on the chin. I was so opposite," Duncan said. "I was so concerned with being in good standing with my parents. Forget authority, I was petrified of that. Eli was not."
Eli wrote his own rap songs and downloaded music onto the family computer using LimeWire.
The Robinsons' middle child was constantly in-tune with those around him. He mixed and mingled with different groups, gaining confidence by connecting with all types.
"He was very perceptive of people," Jeffrey said. "He always had a point of view about a person that was right on. He wasn't judgmental, though."
"He had an amazing ability to see people for what they were and meet people where they were, as well," Duncan said. "Nothing was indicative of that more than to see who showed up for him."
"He was very funny. He was joyful. He was a very happy kid and he made everyone in the room happy. Whenever he wrote a thank you note, he would always add one more line about them where they felt really thanked," Elisabeth said. "His (emotional quotient) and IQ for who people were was pretty high."
Duncan wanted to be exactly like his older brother. That meant listening to Young Jeezy, Eli's favorite rapper as a teenager, on the school bus, and putting ketchup on noodles, Eli's favorite food for a time. Duncan disliked the dish but forced it down.
Eli was a multi-sport athlete.
He was a member of the Rye 2003 Little League state championship team, the town's first to advance to the New England regional in Bristol, Connecticut. On the Berwick Academy basketball team, prior to later transferring to Governor's Academy, Eli showed a sweet finish around the rim and shot-making ability.
Duncan attended Eli's games and strove to be a prolific athlete like his big brother. Later, Eli was his brother's biggest cheerleader as Duncan starred in college and the NBA.
Duncan began his college career at Williams, an NCAA Division III school, before transferring to the University of Michigan. As a Wolverine, he scored 1,000-plus points, won back-to-back Big Ten titles and the conference's 2018 Sixth Man of the Year award. He captained the 2017-2018 team that reached the NCAA championship game against Villanova University.
After his final collegiate season, Duncan was signed by the Heat as an undrafted free agent, becoming a key contributor on coach Erik Spoelstra's playoff teams. Duncan, the first NCAA Division III transfer to play in an NBA game, has averaged 11.3 regular season points per game through seven years and boasts a career 39.7% 3-point field goal percentage, good for 18th among all active NBA players. He became the fastest player in league history to make 1,000 3-pointers, hitting the milestone in 344 games.
Detroit acquired Duncan in a July trade, then signed him to a three-year, $48 million contract.
Duncan points to Eli as one of his earliest athletic idols.
"I always viewed him as the unsung hero of the teams he was on," Duncan said.
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In 2021, Eli was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was 31 years old then, older than most males diagnosed with the disorder.
The Robinsons have no family history of schizophrenia. Reflecting on the diagnosis, they ponder if Eli's prior substance abuse played a factor, as he began drinking and smoking in high school.
A National Institutes of Health-led study in 2023 found young men with cannabis use disorder have a higher chance of developing schizophrenia.
"He was a runaway train with the drinking and the pot early on," Elisabeth said.
Eli battled substance abuse for a long time, but he eventually got sober, a primary point of pride in his life. His sobriety date was Sept. 12, 2021.
Every member of the Robinson family stocked up on Spindrift sparkling water and soda for Eli to enjoy after he quit drinking. It was not uncommon for Eli to consume 10 Spindrifts daily.
Duncan now proudly wears his brother's sobriety necklace each day.
"He would tell you within three minutes of meeting you that he was three-and-a-half years sober and that he was struggling with schizophrenia," Duncan said.
Auditory hallucinations affect more schizophrenia patients than visual ones. Eli never experienced any visual hallucinations, but voices cycled through his head for years.
Mental health experts say schizophrenia is rare and often is diagnosed in men as early as their late teenage years.
William Torrey, professor and chair of the psychiatry department at Dartmouth College's Geisel School of Medicine, said less than 1% of the population worldwide experiences schizophrenia.
A patient's diagnosis tends to have a major impact on their loved ones. In the Robinsons' case, Elisabeth, Jeff, Marta and Duncan worked with Eli and spoke to mental health providers time and time again in order to help Eli claw his way out of anguish.
Susan Stearns, executive director of National Alliance on Mental Illness New Hampshire, said a patient's battle with schizophrenia can take many twists and turns.
"Frankly, it's a hard life," she said.
Post-diagnosis, the voices in Eli's head grew loud. They warned him people were after Duncan as he blossomed in Miami, helping the Heat grind its way to two NBA Finals appearances. The voices told Eli he needed to shield his beloved niece -- Day's daughter, Gemma -- from harm's way.
Family protection was a priority for Eli. Calls would come in from him before dawn with vague warnings of unfounded danger, the Robinsons say.
The family first found it challenging to decipher whether Eli was worried about the possibility of real trouble or if he was experiencing hallucinations. Though not without worry, over time it became clear Eli's voices were growing louder.
Marta believes 95% of her brother's hallucinations made him believe his family was in harm's way.
"It was all about protection of the four of us and Gemma. It was always that," she said.
The hallucinations persisted despite Eli taking different medications.
All Eli wanted was to stop the voices. Jeffrey watched his son dutifully take half a cup of pills he was prescribed.
"If medication is not going to work, they don't know what to do. Because he didn't get better, they put him on more medication, not less, because that's what they do. They medicate you. To me, that was the most disappointing lesson that I got out of that whole experience," Jeffrey said.
The New England Patriots were playing the rival New York Jets on Sunday, Oct. 27, 2024. At Jeff's home, he and Eli tuned into the game.
The action in Foxborough, Massachusetts, quickly became an afterthought. Eli couldn't sit still. He paced around the room, struggling to quiet the voices in his head.
He asked his son to tell him what the voices were saying. "I said, 'Eli, just talk to me about what's going on,'" Jeffrey said. "And he's like, 'The voices are telling me to kill you right now, to kill you.'"
Jeffrey attempted to get Eli to admit himself to the hospital. Eli refused and walked out the door.
"He said, 'I'm leaving.' I said, 'Don't leave.' He walked out and he went to the bridge and jumped off," Jeff said.
Portsmouth Fire Chief Bill McQuillen later reported an unidentified man had been pulled from the river alive by New Hampshire Marine Patrol.
After jumping in October, Eli told his family it was the first time in days he hadn't heard voices.
Eli said to his siblings that he'd rather kill himself than hurt any member of their family.
"It was all about our safety," Marta said of her brother's hallucinations. "I think he knew in a lot of ways that he was tortured and we were tortured. It was awful. It was awful to witness it. He knew how unique it was that he survived jumping the first time. He knew the statistics. I think in a lot of ways he didn't want to have us continue living the way we were living."
Eli could not sleep, suffering from insomnia. His family noticed signs of bipolar disorder.
Eli had completed 30 rounds of electric convulsive therapy. Sixteen times, he was admitted for psychiatric hospitalizations. Eli was prescribed eight different anti-psychotic medications to help quiet the noise. The voices never stayed away for long.
Heartbroken, the Robinsons stayed by Eli's side as he battled his intense hallucinations and delusions. The family intervened and spent years seeking top-tier treatment for Eli, eventually helping him receive eight months of care at McLean Hospital in Massachusetts, one of the nation's most well-known psychiatric institutions. Some of Eli's patient records weren't shared between hospitals and clinics, forcing Elisabeth to create a three-page narrative of her son's medications, hallucinations and prior providers.
Eli gained weight. He felt restless and foggy, but he stayed on course and took his prescriptions.
Elisabeth watched her son shudder from the medications.
"He was working so hard. He was literally shaking," she said. "At 6 in the morning, he was like, 'Mom, mom, you don't understand. I have to go protect Gemma.' Then he'd drive off and go walk behind the house behind trees."
"It was really hard to watch your phone ring and to not know which Eli was calling you. Was it Eli that was trying to say, 'Hey, can I come by and see Gemma?' Or was it Eli that was like, 'Lock your house right now. They're coming to get you,'" Marta said.
For the past two years, Duncan averaged between six and 10 phone calls a day with his brother. During some of Eli's worst hallucinations, there would be upwards of 25 phone calls in a day.
Duncan usually had the ability to coax Eli into seeking treatment or going to a hospital when necessary. Those calls came after the first family's three lines of defense -- Elisabeth, Jeffrey and Marta -- were unsuccessful.
"Duncan was our Eli whisperer," Marta said.
But on April 30, Duncan heard a different tone in his brother's voice.
Duncan spoke to Eli between 15 to 20 times the day he died.
"I remember I went to dinner," Duncan said. "Before I went to dinner, I was on the phone with him, and I was like, 'Eli, you have to go. You have to go.' Always, at some point, there was some breaking point of him being like, 'All right, fine.'
"And he didn't let up," Duncan added. "I got done with dinner. He didn't call me the whole dinner. I had this weird feeling driving back. I called everybody asking, 'Has anyone heard from Eli?' They hadn't."
Recounting his premonition, Duncan held a hand over his heart.
Eli never sought medical help that night.
"Then my dad heard (he jumped), and my mom called me. I always felt like I could make some sort of headway or that he would listen to me in some capacity."
"It was very indicative of where he was on that day," Marta added. "He was unreachable."
New Hampshire State Police reported troopers responded to a report of a car stopped in the northbound breakdown lane on the Piscataqua River Bridge just after 7 p.m. on April 30.
Authorities located a man in the river half an hour later.
"The person was recovered and transported to a local area hospital," state police wrote in a May 1 news release. "Life-saving measures were taken but were unsuccessful."
Obituary: Eli Jeffrey Robinson, 1990-2025
"We understand," Marta said. "We understand why (he did this). I feel like there's a lot of acceptance on our end."
"He just couldn't keep going," Jeffrey added.
The family estimates 600 people attended Eli's celebration of life in Portsmouth in early May. Attendees included Eli's friends from childhood, high school and ones he made at halfway homes, former teachers and coaches, and a priest, Marta recalled.
Grief-stricken, Marta and Duncan both eulogized their brother, talking about his impact on those he loved despite the internal despair he endured.
At his funeral, Eli's coworkers from Joe's New York Pizza stood in the front row and sobbed.
In the days after Eli's services, the family laid out photo albums. They cried and they laughed, remembering old family trips, childhood memories and inside jokes. Guests trickled in and out to offer their condolences. Food and flowers were delivered, with about 1,000 sympathy cards and letters mailed to the family.In that time, the Robinsons huddled together to determine how best to honor Eli and bolster mental health services in the Seacoast.
Within two hours of Eli's jump, a person was found to have leapt from the nearby Sarah Mildred Long Bridge. Two weeks after Eli's death by suicide, a teenager drove to the Piscataqua River Bridge and died by suicide.
The three deaths by suicide in a two-week span this spring prompted area mental health advocates and public safety leaders to begin discussing the need to push for local bridge barriers. Signs with the 988 national crisis lifeline were posted on the Piscataqua River Bridge and the Sarah Mildred Long Bridge in the wake of the deaths. New Hampshire Gov. Kelly Ayotte formally called local and state authorities from New Hampshire and Maine, mental health providers, transportation leaders and elected officials together to begin addressing suicide prevention in June.
More: Gov. Ayotte forms group to tackle I-95 bridge suicide prevention: Are barriers coming?
The Robinsons are at the forefront of the conversation, calling for bridge barriers to be installed and supporting Seacoast Mental Health Center with over $110,000 raised in Eli's memory. Separately, the newly founded Robinson Family Foundation will offer a three-tiered approach toward bettering mental, heart and overall physical health and wellness in youth and adults.
"We're going to take the shame out of mental health," Elisabeth said. "It's about the commitment to create a barrier, to not make it so easy."
"We're going to use our platform," Marta said. "That's one of the things (Eli) did best. He spoke so openly (with) no shame about his journey, to the point where we were like, 'Really, you're going to say that?' And he was like, 'Yeah, I'm going to say it!'
Duncan said his sister's career as a therapist, his mother's work as a family nurse practitioner and their combined industry connections helped equip them for aiding Eli. He knows most families facing a schizophrenia diagnosis don't have the same resources.
The Robinsons faced challenges in Eli's treatment and question why the Piscataqua River Bridge wasn't originally built to block deaths by suicide.
"We would say this sometimes: 'If we weren't our family, Eli probably would have been dead or on the street years ago,'" Duncan said. "For me, it's really disheartening and sad to think that there are so many families that are likely dealing with this that don't have the resources, the things at our disposal and the expertise that we do have.
"Even then, still, it was never going to be enough. That's the reality of how ill he was."
The next story in this series will be published on Wednesday, Aug. 20.
The National Alliance on Mental Illness - New Hampshire offers the following resources to those in distress: