Today marks 6 years since my friend passed away.
I spent two of those believing it was just an accident, that while living in NYC, someone pushed him in front of the metro at 3 in the morning.
When I found out it was suicide, he died all over again.
I don’t want to get overly personal, because I still have trouble talking about it personally and I want to respect his family too.
I don’t always remember his day of death. Sometimes it just passes by but this time, I’ve been thinking about him a lot.
I think about his note, written inside a little notebook along with some musings, stories and drawings. It was the last entry. It said to the effect of, I was hoping for a miracle, but it wasn’t enough.” It’s based off the line from Bloc Party’s song Helicopter. We used to play that song on Guitar Hero all the time.
My interpretation of his suicide changes over time, sometimes minute by minute, but from that note… He just gave up. For whatever reason he was tired. He didn’t want to try anymore.
I feel bad. He was dealing with some serious demons. I used to feel that it was my fault, that I didn’t help him enough or wasn’t a good enough friend and in a way, pushed him in front of that metro train. Or that we all failed, friends and family.
Ultimately, it was his choice.
I don’t believe he went straight to hell. God judges what’s on the inside and someone who kills themself is not in their right mind. God takes all thing into account.
I’m sure his in the afterlife regretting his decision. He’s made me and his family and other friends very sad, depressed, and question the purpose of life. I used to wonder if there was any point in carrying on.
I used to feel bad making friends with other guys, like I was replacing him or insulting his memory.
One time at a little memorial with friends and family of the recently deceased. I shared a memory and at one point said, “he was my best friend.” Someone corrected me and said, “is! He is your best friend.”
I continued because everyone was watching and listening to me and I didn’t want to argue but, be it rude, or an insult to his memory, he was my best friend.
Putting it in the past, as a memory of what once was, helps me cope. I wish he was here to meet my wife, play Pokemon Go and just talk to, but he is not. And he is not coming back. Whether I’ll see him in a life after this, that’s personal belief. I believe I will, but as far as mortal life goes, I will never see him again.
It brings me closure. I will always remember him but I can no longer be held down by it. I must cut the chain to the anchor and sail on. I’ll always remember that spot, it’s marked on my map forever, but there are other seas and oceans to explore.
His death has not set my life off of a normal, happy course. Life is still good.