I’ve always said that the year I spent in Toronto at Humber College (to become a Funeral Director) was one of the best years of my life and if I could ever live it over again I would. That year I shared a basement apartment with a couple of guys from Newfoundland who were in the same course. The apartment was nothing really…one room with mattresses on the floor, a desk and a small table with a couple of benches. Like many students, we ate fried bologna and beans once a week and ate at McDonalds after our late class. It wasn’t a matter of what we had, but who we were with that made that year so great. We became the best of friends; the kind who would be able to become separated by time and distance but still be able to pick up where we left off each time we saw each other or talked. We wrote letters, called each other and shared each other’s ups and downs. My son Darrell is named after one of those guys.
Last week I received a phone call from my friend Darrell and I could instinctively tell by his voice that something was wrong. He was calling to tell me that Max had committed suicide.
Those words were just as much a shock to me then as they were when I just typed them. What you can’t see because you are reading this later, is the time that I spent looking at that last sentence on my computer screen and not knowing what to say next…
There will always be a part of me that wishes Max would have called me. I may not have been able to change anything but I would like to have tried…to maybe say one thing that would make a difference. I tried to go back into Facebook and re-read our conversations to see if I missed something but he deleted his account and all of our messages went with it. I wish that we hadn’t stopped writing actual letters.
I feel sad but I’m not mad at Max. I’m not judging whether it was right or wrong for him to choose to leave his family and friends. I didn’t walk in his shoes so I didn’t know his pain.
His funeral is today. I’m going to miss him.
Rest well, fine sir. Rest well.
Your friend Marc