A childhood friend of mine passed away recently. Actually, it was more dreadful than that; he took his own life. In my youth, we spent a lot of time together, although he was a year older than I was. He was a neighbor, schoolmate and church friend. We had fun together. We played soccer, football and baseball together. We jumped on our trampolines together and, looking back, survived some awfully daredevil endeavors. We went trick-or-treating through our neighborhood each year, raking in loads of candy. We played pranks on others, especially our siblings. We were boys and made memories. As we aged, we grew apart, as happens sometimes, even among good friends, with life taking each individual in his or her own direction. But he was always my friend.
Which is why I was surprised, to say the least, when I saw his family members posting the sad news of his passing. I saw that his memorial service and celebration of his life was days away. I rearranged my schedule to attend, and I’m glad I did.
While we had grown apart over the years, I remember him well. The more recent parts of his life I was unfamiliar with were highlighted at his service. He was a good man. He loved God and his family. He struggled with mental illness and such disease worsened over time. I don’t know what he was thinking on October 12, 2016 when he decided to end his life, but I know there are many people here on earth who will remember him for all the good he did and were reminded at how precious life is.