I just found out one of my friends died almost a year ago.
I was looking through the contacts on my phone and decided to shoot him a message. The last time we spoke, he wasn’t in a good place. The message failed to send.
I looked at his Facebook page. It hadn’t been updated in a very long while. And then I searched his name.
Ian [redacted]. Passed away July 5, 2015.
He was a user and went to rehab for it. He sent me a letter while he was there, with his messy mechanical engineer’s, all-caps scrawl.
When I was assaulted on campus, I cried and cried on the phone with him. He said he knew people from his bad ol’ days who could easily make the guy go away. He would’ve killed for me. Friends like that are a rarity few ever come across.
I feel an immense and terrible guilt on my shoulders. I remember messaging him a year ago with no reply. I asked if he was mad at me. No response.
I unfriended him on Facebook, and I never really gave him a second thought. That was May of 2015.
I never e-mailed him or sent him letters.
I should have.
I should have tried harder to reach out instead of writing him off. He must have been in so much pain.
I’m so sorry, Ian.
I love you.