I remember when I first started reading Mimi Smartypants (too lazy to link right now), one of the first entries of hers that I stumbled on was a post written on the anniversary of her friend's death by suicide. She said she was riding the el and looking at the city at night, at the lights, and thinking, he wanted to leave this? Really?
I can't say I understood precisely her feelings, though I've often thought that anyone who wants to leave this place for good is bonkers; I've been depressed, but I guess I've never been that depressed, because I simply can't imagine giving up the wonder of living here, now. I also have never had someone close to me commit suicide.
Last night, when we got home from the concert (this was supposed to be a write-up of the Roger Waters show), S checked his email, and found one from a former co-worker of ours. Through the grapevine of Borders employees, he found out that another one of our former co-workers had killed himself. Except that this was something more than a former co-worker, because this was someone I especially had spent some time with (family, I want to reassure you that it wasn't Sh, in case you would worry. I expect that if I had heard that news, you would have known about it last night.). I listened to him play his guitar, I was in his home, I went to beer with him. I became best friends with his boyfriend. My best friend was in love with him.
He was a troubled person, and I'd always known it. He gave up all rights to his daughter some time in proximity to when I met him, yet when I visited his house, her picture was up on his fridge. He seemed to have a deep loathing for the fact that he felt desire for men, yet he also seemed to love intensely, at times, his boyfriend. He could barely bring himself to bring out his guitar, except when coaxed a lot, or when prompted by his father. He had, as I understand, little or no contact with his mother, though his relationship with his father was marvelously deep, and he spoke only kind words about his stepmother. I know that after I stopped knowing him, after we had both moved on, and after his relationship with my (ex) best friend ended, he went through hard times. He made manager at a Borders, but couldn't take it. He moved back home with his dad. He lost himself.
I remember that he laughed a lot. He liked comic books. He sounded a little bit like James Taylor when he sang. He introduced me to Hem. He was a good, hard-working manager. He made me try my first Blue Moon with orange in it. And even though he was mean to my best friend at times, he wasn't all bad.
I suppose I thought that he loved life enough not to leave, but I also don't know how it was in the last few years. I simply cannot comprehend. Any of it.
I find I can only echo Mimi Smartypants: you wanted to leave this? Really?
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