I lost a friend tonight. Tragically, he gave up on life. He had so much going for him -- a winning smile and a kind heart, lingual skills, a Harvard degree, friends and family who loved him. We studied abroad together 9 years ago. He was the first face I laid eyes on in the Philadelphia airport as our group gathered before boarding our flight to France to become School Year Abroad's Class of 2000-2001. I instantly developed a crush on him. There was something so soulful about his brown eyes, his tousled brown hair, the dimples in his smile and his shy spirit. As a high school junior, I doubted that this dashing post-graduate student would be interested in me. I didn't think I could take the rejection, so I returned the smile he readily gave me and inspected my shoes while I felt his gaze on me.
Brooke seemed to be able to do everything effortlessly. He spoke flawless French, having spent the early years of his life there while his father was headmaster of the school. He was a great soccer player, an avid biker, he had a leading role in the school play we performed while we were there, and he was incredibly smart. I remember seeing him walk into school in the mornings with rosy cheeks and windswept hair, slightly matted at the hairline from his bike ride to the campus. That year we had record amounts of rain but I still remember seeing his arm draped over a muddy soccer ball and his excited grin as he headed outside unfazed by the soggy landscape.
We were divided into four groups based on language. Brooke was in the first group. I was not. But even though I was at a distance from him in the classroom, it was evident that he was an academic force. His thoughtful intellect left an impression on his teachers, and he walked the hallways often lost in thought, seemingly turning over something he had learned that day or perhaps, something that he was still working out to his satisfaction.
He began dating a sweet and sincere girl, gentle by nature, who seemed to bring out the best in him. They were clearly very happy together and seemed to complement each other well. They stayed a couple for seven years, before they went their separate ways amicably. I have always wondered what might have happened had I not inspected my shoes that day in the Philadelphia airport. How my life would be different now. It is my Sliding Doors moment.
He randomly popped into my head this past weekend. I can't say why. I humored myself with the thought of making up for lost time and getting to know the guy I chose to watch from a distance nine years ago. I thought of befriending him on Facebook, but the silly schoolgirl in me again shied away from connecting with him. I told myself that with all that he had going for him, he must have plenty of friends; that even after all these years, we were still in different leagues (best language group vs. not; high school graduate vs. junior; Ivy League vs. not). I let meaningless labels prevent me from reaching out to somebody who made an impact on me, who could have been a new friend, and who needed a friend more than I could have ever imagined when I arrogantly presumed he didn't.
And now I'm left with the sadness of a life cut short way too soon; of great potential vanishing to the grave; of a hole that can never be filled and a family whose pain can never be completely healed.
This news comes on the heels of a recent discovery for me that another great guy with whom I went to high school killed himself last December. I found out via Facebook last week and it got me thinking about the horrible tragedy of mental illness. Both of these guys were such good people and there was something so special about them. Their kindness and giftedness are embedded in my memories of them. They had family and friends who loved them, were proud of them, and tried to reach them in the crippling moments of despair. And yet, tonight, I turn out the lights on a world that is poorer for their absence.
No one is replaceable. Their spot can never be filled.
The damage can never be undone.
Don't let another moment pass before you contact that person who's crossed your mind recently, or the one you sit beside daily. Time cannot be taken for granted. It just might be your last chance.
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