I have just finished reading a book put together by the Grad Student. This book contains the journals of his son, my adoptive brother, before his final rehab, during the final rehab, and afterwards. It ends with his suicide note and memorials left on his facebook page.
I'm in tears, huffing and sniffling, as I type this.
He was my first friend. I still idolize him . . . even though I know his faults. I still insist that the world see him as I did. I want people to understand his intelligence and natural kindness. I want them to understand that his flaws weren't his fault. I want them to be in awe of his talent. Even though he was eaten alive by shame and guilt and anger. . . so much anger . . . I love him. I don't know if he ever was kind enough to himself to absorb that he was loved.
This week, I've been visiting the Grad Student. It has been a nice limbo of being in-between adulthood and moments of carefree childhood. Today we dressed up and went to see the Oregon Symphony and dance performance (pretty girls in pretty dresses twirling on stage) and went to a fancy restaurant after . . . but I could order a boozy drink. But, we have also tried to make peace with the past. We have tried to reason why we have arrived at the place we are now . . . one man short.