Five Years Ago Today

Collin has a middle name, two actually, but his first middle name is David. David was a close friend of mine. He was so close that I considered him a little brother. He was without a mother and mostly raised his little brothers. He was the most responsible, level-headed, smart man that I ever knew. He took care of everyone before himself. He looked up to me and I looked up to him. He taught me how to have more fun and I taught him how to have less.

I left Michigan and missed him terribly. When I left, I knew he was in trouble. He'd been a young drinker. A kid in trouble for much too long. But, without parents looking after him the way they should, what can a "friend" really do, except keep being there? I hugged him goodbye the last time I saw him and I'm glad that's the last thing I did.

We had lunch and he finally broke down in tears, admitting that he was going into more intensive, in-patient treatment for drinking and asked me if I was ashamed of him for not being able to beat his problem on his own. At 21, he wanted to know, did I think he was a failure? Our last real, face-to-face words were that I was proud of him, and they were exchanged in an embrace. I don't think there can be a better good-bye then holding a friend and telling them you are proud of them.

I can tell you a million stories of David being drunk, David being ridiculously smashed, David sneaking alcohol...or, a million stories of David being hilarious and David being the best, David being responsible, David coming through when no one thought he could, David never failing anyone, David being amazing, David being the best friend anyone could ask for and David failing no one but himself.

Needless to say, five years ago today, David died. He was found in his basement, having hung himself. And, you haven't seen anything in this life until you've seen a 21 year-old kid you love in a coffin and you know you could've stopped it...or think you could've. Let me tell you, you see that face and that swollen neck every day for the rest of your life. I have anyway, for the last five years.

I have spent five years being angry, being frustrated, being hurt, being sad, wishing, you name it...but it all comes down to the fact that I can only have said goodbye the way he let me. I can only have helped the way he let me. I miss him and that's all I can do.

Collin will never get to meet Uncle David and that's very sad. But every year on February 9th, he will get to have dinner with an empty place setting at the table and hear some pretty funny stories about how hilarious he was...for example, we worked at a cashmere sweater company together and he was the only man in the office that fit the sweater samples, so he had to try them on for sample fittings and get his photos taken for the factory specs...alas, this bank of lame, shots of him vamping. But hey, no one but David can pull off pink, men's cashmere pants. No one.

So, this isn't meant to be a downer...it's just what today is. An "anniversary," that happens every year for our family. If you've got someone you love that's gone, you understand. If you've got someone you love that you know needs you, trust your gut. Always.