of consequence

Earlier this week, I was stunned to learn that a high school friend of mine had taken his own life, jumping to his death one week prior, shocking both family and friends with actions that seemed entirely incompatible with the man they knew him to be. And even though I haven’t spoken to or of this friend for years, I found myself in tears over his passing, saddened by his decision to forfeit his life so suddenly and so finally.

After graduation, I left high school behind without looking back, anxious to embrace and indulge unabashedly in the absolute unfamiliarity of my impending college experience. Two years later, I had severed all hometown ties completely, and—with a few rare exceptions—have not conversed with these old friends in the four years since passed.

But in spite of my eager high school departure and subsequent loss of many long-time relationships, I have always hoped the best for the individuals with whom I once shared a certain intimacy and understanding, with whom I somehow survived the sometimes suffocating halls of high school, whose presence made my better-at-the-end emergence a possibility. It is devastating to imagine that one of these friends has surrendered, given up, and is gone. Though years and miles away, I am still and acutely aware of his absence.

We are of profound consequence even to those at a distance.