A few mornings ago I was up at 5:00 am reading email when I found out by accident that a friend had died — five months ago. The news reached me indirectly after I reached out the night before to a mutual acquaintance from years ago. The follow-up email started with “I was sorry to hear about P—”. Even my half-awake self knew that could only be bad news.
A quick Google search turned up P—’s obituary. It was short on details (literally “P— died unexpectedly at 40”) but long on the friends and family that he left behind.
A second email from our mutual acquaintance revealed why P– had died. I got it just before stepping into my car – the car I remember driving out many times to see P– – to go to work. This email was also short: “P– had some demons. He committed suicide”. I hadn’t asked, but I hadn’t expected this… shocker. There it was in the email and then bouncing around my head during my forty-five minute alone-with-my-thoughts morning commute.
I found myself repeating all the cliched questions. Why? How? And then: how didn’t I know? And: why didn’t I follow up when I didn’t get a return text, months ago (it was so unlike P— to not respond quickly).
I hadn’t heard from P— in months. We’d drifted apart, and had only seen each other sporadically anyway. I didn’t think it strange that he hadn’t returned my texts or emails, or even that his work email (a contact form on his website) bounced earlier in the week. I had hoped he’d found a girlfriend who was taking all of his time and he was too busy to respond to an old work colleague from years ago. Looking back, the absence made sense, though the reason was so senseless.
Reacting to reality
Since that early morning wake-up email, I’ve been scrolling through our last texts from last summer, a few months before he died. They don’t seem unusual. He’d talked about his college debt, and feeling that he’d been screwed into paying for an expensive education that promised a well-paying, satisfying job but didn’t deliver. He had gotten a new job (just before the pandemic!), but he didn’t talk much about it. That seems relevant now.
He’d reached out several times in 2020 and 2021 about getting together. I brushed him off, suggesting he needed a girlfriend. The texts seem stark and accusatory – almost cruel – in hindsight: like I’d treated a gentle and kind and funny friend callously because I assumed he had lots of other friends and things to keep him busy.
I guess I didn’t really know or understand his life. Maybe we never do.
He was smart, fashionable, young, and really, really good at and passionate about his craft (graphic design). I don’t know why he didn’t let me know how he was truly feeling – to me or to the many friends I knew (thought) he had. Why he felt life was not worth living.
A clue: P– was super Covid-cautious, and became sort of a hermit during the early pandemic times. But he seemed… OK.
So I ignored the emails and texts that didn’t get a response, and worried about other more pressing things in life. Like we all do, because there’s always too much to do and too little time.
A shot of pandemic blues
P— is my third close brush with someone’s suicide ideation since the pandemic began, but the only one who followed through. Was it the pandemic? Life is hard and we’re all just muddling through. We all get wrapped up in our own issues and two long lockdown years. For P–, two long years of living at home with his stepdad and mom when he should have been surrounded by friends and family – his two nieces, his sister, even his new boss – was too much. He texted me once in late summer 2020 that he hadn’t touched another human being in months. This was pre-vaccine, and he was planning a trip to NYC to visit just a friend or two – did I think it was safe? he asked me – in their Brooklyn apartment.
More ruminating
The universe is full of strange connections. People you meet at just the time you need them. People who add a spark of something special. People who leave behind a memento or two, treasured memories. Paul was one of those people. He designed my custom business cards, the logo for my 50th birthday; took the headshot I used when I applied for my current job.
I am so grateful for my connection to P–. I wish he had felt connected enough to reach out.
He was the first person who I might have been able to help – if I’d known. This is so cliche, too: That is is so hard to reach out to people when we most need connection. That we don’t talk about suicide or even really about being sad at all (except for a little bit, when someone dies, or something bad happens).
And I wonder: Why didn’t P–’s obituary include that piece? It shouldn’t be weak or shameful to acknowledge the suffocating darkness of depression and suicidal feelings. It should be just like any other health issue. But it’s not just like any other health issue. There’s no blood test or quick fix for depression.
Looking forward by looking back
I am bringing out the things P— added to my life – the custom-designed business cards and stationery (for a freelance company I haven’t yet even started). The coasters he designed for my 50th birthday bash (I invited him but he declined, said he didn’t know my friends and it would be weird).
His loss is a distant, intellectual hurt. It’s not the raw pain of losing someone I see every day, or grew up with. But it’s real, and it makes me want to reprioritize and treat people who matter in my life with a little more care and a little less carelessness.
P—-’s death makes me want to live better.
To check in on the people I love a little more often.
Maybe not everyone in my contacts list. But maybe more than just mom and dad and the one or two friends who I text/visit regularly.
To never be so busy that I just let it slide when someone doesn’t answer texts or emails.
To listen for cries for connection, and not assume everything is OK.
I hope P— is in a better place and that the end of his young life was pain free. But I will never know. I can only cherish the moments we had, and do better going forward.
I gave Rocky the benefit of the doubt when he was late coming the next warm day to finish all the Honda detailing we’d talked about that would get the car sale-ready. I knew in my heart they were good people, would finish, It was just the weather that was getting in the way. Stupid New England. 