My friend took his life on Friday. He didn't show up to work, and, well, someone must have found him. I pray it wasn't his young son. I wish it weren't anyone.

In the last 24 hours I have said "What the fuck was he thinking?" about a dozen times. No, more than that.

What was he thinking when he and his wife and I had a quiet exchange about our crazy school board while we shopped at the Thriftway? What was he thinking when they were buying beer? What the fuck was he thinking?

The school district was swift in getting the news to us all via phone tree. His family was quicker, perhaps to quash the island rumor mill before it got started: they handed out fliers at the Thriftway. (Everything comes through the Thriftway sooner or later, whether you want it to or not.)

I think of every time he made a wonderfully sardonic comment about whatever. I think of him effortlessly spouting Russian. It is inconceivable that I will never see that subtle shift in his lips and in his eyes when he said something piercingly astute or witty or ironic. The man knew how to make a point, how to make you accept the blade.

He didn't suffer bureaucratic antics well, and he called out those whose behavior was clearly unhealthy for children and adults alike.

He was a lifelong friend of Jimmy Carter. An odd tidbit.

I lay in bed and cried last night, being held by a friend. I said, sobbing, "Any one of use would have given a kidney, or an arm, to keep him here, to solve the problem. Didn't he know that? I can't imagine feeling so depressed that I could go through with it, knowing how much more hurt I was causing my family and the people I loved. I don't know how he could have done this. I don't understand."

My friend said, "He didn't either."
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And now for the memorial, the hollow-eyed, sleepless sorrow of my friends and colleagues, the pain and confusion of his current and former students and the distant dimness of the eyes of his family.

Work on Monday seems like a far-off drudge, some bad joke. There will be counselors and the comfort of coworkers and a numb routine. I've already rehearsed what I will say to kids that ask. And I've already put tissues on my shopping list.
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What about his best friend and teaching partner, my friend L? What about T and J and their son, fast friends of my friend? What about his baby girl, young son and his wife? What about his high-profile dad? Thank God, the Goddess, the Universe, Buddha or (insert deity/life force/higher power here) that his family and his friends are supported by the island. I mean the island community and The Island, which has its own spiritual vortex.
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I'm off to spend the day living.