My Friend Dave

In early May, Arthur and I lost our friend Dave to suicide. I wish I could say it was a surprise, but it wasn’t. We knew he was struggling. One of Dave’s many strengths was being honest about his mental health, my favorite thing to bond over with him (a close second was making crass sex jokes). Our last moment together, at his birthday party, was a mere three weeks before he took his life. I told him how much his friendship meant to me and how thankful I was he was alive.

“Yeah, for now,” he said, half smiling but in full seriousness.

I begged him to text or call if he ever thought of hurting himself; I wish I could remember his response. We hugged, and that was it. He never texted or called; although in his defense, neither did I. In retrospect, I know it wouldn’t have made a difference, but I wish I had checked in one last time. If love and support could have saved him, he’d still be here. His partner Geena was in lockstep with him on the rollercoaster that was his mental health. He had a wide and supportive network of family and friends.

In the aftermath of his passing, I’ve been reflecting on Dave’s legacy. His greatest gift to me was speaking out about his mental health, making me feel comfortable to share my own struggles. His manner of death doesn’t diminish that – if anything, it amplifies the importance of asking for help and being transparent about mental illness. But the lessons Dave unknowingly bestowed on me the last 15 years go beyond mental health advocacy. And I want to use this post to highlight a few.

His Impact on Me

Dave checked out my Goodreads account a few years ago, before the pandemic, and commented on how many female authors I read. It was simply an observation, nothing critical, but it sparked an interesting conversation. I hadn’t really noticed or thought anything about the authors’ sex and found it curious he noticed. Since then, I’ve made a concerted effort to read male authors. My bookshelves are still predominantly stocked with females, but now I get excited reading male writers like James McBride, Abraham Verghese, Ron Chernow, Kazuo Ishiguro, and Matt Haig. I credit Dave for expanding my perspective.

As much as Dave liked to joke and rib people, usually in the form of playing Devil’s Advocate, he knew when he’d gone too far. His laugh would abruptly stop and his smile would disappear. He’d realize he’d stepped on your toes and apologize, sincerely. Dave was quick to make amends. It wasn’t a placating apology, and it wasn’t a passive-aggressive “sorry your feelings are hurt.” It was clear he thought you could handle what he was doling out. When it dawned on him you couldn’t, he took responsibility. I loved that about him, and I hope to give a similar impression when I get carried away.

When Dave took on an interest, he was all in. Some summers past he gifted us a pepper plant because he’d learned how to cultivate them and had a surplus. Another year, another season, he’d developed a passion for ceramics so we received a homemade pot designed by Dave (holding a candle made by Geena). When he got serious about meditation, he was quick to explain the different types and benefits. His passion knew no bounds, and he loved sharing his with anyone who’d listen. A reason I’m writing again is because I want to pursue my hobbies with a similar gusto. Thanks, Dave!

Just Reach Out

A few years ago, our foursome had a falling out over a difference of opinion. It continued for too long because life got in the way. Then we were too timid to reach out for fear of… I don’t know what.

This past November, Arthur accidentally sent his Wordle score to our group text, which kicked off our Friendassance (renaissance for friendship) with Geena and Dave. We cleared the air and made efforts to make up for lost time.

I wanted to be a better friend to people who mean so much to me and were gracious enough to let me back in. I had more to give Dave. I’m going to miss all that he had left to share as a friend too.

I’m grimly lucky in that I get to grieve alongside my husband, who introduced me to Dave after meeting him at work. Dave in turn led us to befriending Geena, his loving partner. She shares his passion for hobbies and self-expression, for bringing people together and seeing the best in them. She’s let us bear witness to her own grief and made room for ours, even though no one would blame her for saying it’s too much.

Moving Forward

My friend Dave was a phenomenal human being, and the world is a sadder place without him in it. His legacy goes on in the memories he shared with loved ones. In honor of Dave, and in support of Geena, I’m walking with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Please consider joining a local chapter near you or donating to Team Dave.

This experience has shown me that people would much rather hear about and live through your darkest days with you than live life without you in it. Speak up and seek help. I do, I have, and I will, in no small part because of Dave.