“He didn't seem like he was depressed and was always smiling. This is shocking” (Anon).
Friday marked the twentieth anniversary of the death of a dear friend, a close friend of our family — in fact, my parents’ godson. I remember when he was born, and I remember standing next to my parents in front of the baptismal font (I was only a little taller than the font at the time).
This poem was written some years ago, but I am presenting it again here. My friend, whom I loved like a brother, suffered from crippling depression for several years before his tragic death by suicide. My wife answered the call the next morning, and broke the news to me after I returned from a brisk Autumn outing.
Twenty years is a long time ago. Much has changed. His godparents have joined him in death — in that final passage through the purifying mercy of the Heart of Jesus into eternal beatifying communion with the Trinity.
There is some consolation in the expectation and hope that my parents are with him. I pray for them all, and I grieve for them, begging God to heal all our wounds.