I lost an old Army Buddy to suicide last week.

We’d fallen out of touch, as often happens when you move a lot. Keeping up only through Facebook posts – which provides the illusion of keeping in touch without any of the effort. He seemed to be doing great before the Pandemic hit. Living that rock star life (I was even a little envious). But he was young and unattached, where I am older and entrenched in parenting.

I’ve been thinking about him all weekend. Thinking about the gigs, and the beers, and the hangs in Europe. It was a blast.

And I’ve been wondering how it must have been at the end. The dark places he sank into. Wondering if he tried to reach out to anyone, or just wrestled with the demons alone.

And even if I somehow received answers to all my questions (which I never will), it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still be gone.

I just assumed we’d cross paths eventually, share a beer somewhere down the road. Reminisce about the old times, the people, the craziness. Swapping war stories, as old Soldiers tend to do.

But you won’t make. So the rest of us will reminisce without you. Swapping old stories about you. Raising our glasses in your honor, in a toast you’ll never share.

I drank a coupe IPAs in your honor this weekend. I’m still not the “hop-head” your were, but they’re growing on me.

I’m not really sure how to close this out, as suicide seems so final and so open-ended at the same time. I guess I’ll just say, thanks for the good times, I’ll miss you, I’m sorry, and I hope you found what you’re looking for.

Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255