Remembering My Friend

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It was five years ago today that I lost Steve, one of my best friends, to lung cancer, and my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of him.

I knew Steve when I lived in Arkansas — Little Rock, to be exact. He and his wife Kathy moved in across the hall from a friend of mine, Brady, who lived in an apartment complex close to the one where I lived — easily within walking distance. In fact, I recall a time when we had no choice but to walk to each other's apartments. It was in the last winter I spent in Little Rock, and we got an uncharacteristically heavy snowfall (for Arkansas). We were snowbound for a few days, but the three of us passed the time playing a computer football game at my apartment — and watching TV at Steve's.

In the past, Arkansas snow tended to disappear by midday after an inch or two accumulated during the night. But on this occasion, several inches fell — they still speak of that blizzard in Arkansas — and it was two or three days before enough snow melted for cars to start getting around again.

I have many fond memories of that time. I suppose everyone has periods like that in their lives that they wish would never end, but they always do, of course. When I left Arkansas, it was to enroll in graduate school; at the time I didn't think the move would be permanent. I always figured I would move back to Arkansas after I finished working on my master's. I never did, though, and there are times when I really regret that. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part — it is just the way things turned out.

Steve and a mutual friend of ours, Mike Culpepper (who is also deceased), came to visit me in Texas not long after I moved here. When they arrived and I answered the door, Steve's first words to me were, "You don't live across the parking lot anymore!" That was certainly true. I now lived more than 300 miles away.

I do regret not seeing Steve before he died. I would have liked to have told him how much his friendship had meant to me and how much I was going to miss him. Near the end of his life, I'm not sure Steve would have comprehended what was being said, but still it would have meant a lot to me to express those thoughts to him.

Steve was a typical Arkansas sportsman. I'm not speaking only of the Razorbacks — although Steve was a diehard Hogs fan. He loved to hunt and fish. I went fishing with him a few times, but I never went hunting with him. I've never been a hunter, and I have never owned a gun, but I did join him at deer camp once. The picture at the top of this post was taken that weekend. That was how I did my hunting on that occasion — with a camera.

This picture wasn't as sharp as I would have liked — I've never been more than an amateur photographer — but it is one of my favorites. It captures the vivid sunlight of that day (there is no real indication how chilly it was), and it shows Steve and my dog Pepper (he's that black lump behind Steve).

Steve and Pepper met each other that weekend, and they bonded over a box of fried chicken that Steve had. They would have bonded anyway, I'm sure. Steve was a friendly guy, and Pepper was a friendly dog, especially to anyone who gave him food. Both are gone now, and I miss them very much.

It isn't my way to be melancholy about the past, but sometimes melancholy thoughts take over for awhile, and today is one of those times. If I could go back to any day in my life and re–live it, today I would probably pick that day at deer camp.

Steve would probably understand, but he wouldn't want me to live in the past. Pepper, of course, wouldn't understand much except that I wasn't happy, and it would be his way to try to cheer me up.

In their own ways, they were both forward–looking personalities. I am grateful they were in my life, and I strive to learn from their examples.

I miss you, my friends. Wish you were here.

A Season of Loss

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"To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

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The last couple of years have amounted to one long season of loss. Frankly, it's wearing me down.

I've been through this kind of thing before, although not quite as extensively as lately. It's been getting to the point where I'm almost hesitant to check my e–mail for fear there will be word that someone else I know has died.

Let me backtrack a little here. I was raised in the South.

And, if you were raised in the South, there are times when — regardless of what your personal religious beliefs may be — a quotation from the Bible is the only appropriate answer to the complicated question of why bad things happen to good people.

For me today, the above quote from Ecclesiastes — which was more popularly known when I was a boy as a line from a song by the Byrds — is the one that keeps coming to mind.

Yesterday, I received an e–mail from one of my high school classmates reporting that the son of another classmate had been killed in a car accident.

I have written of this classmate before, most recently last February after his father, a man known as "Justice Jim" Johnson, committed suicide.

Justice Jim, as I mentioned at that time, was something of a notorious segregationist politician when I was a child. He also lived just down the road from my family, and I spent many afternoons playing with his twin sons, who were my age.

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I found this undated photo of David's twin brother
Danny (left) with their father, Justice Jim (right),
and Danny's daughter at some sort of school dinner.

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Few people outside my own family have known me as long as David Johnson and his twin brother, Danny. When their father killed himself about five months ago, I found myself frequently thinking about my childhood and pondering the bizarre twists and turns of life — the randomness of it all.

I reflected a great deal on myself as a child, and I pondered what I might tell that child if I could go back in time and talk to him. But the well was dry. What could I tell him? I know I had no idea what the future held. Not even a clue. No one does, really, even those whose lives seem to have been pre–ordained. What wisdom would I share with him that might make his life easier?

I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, of course, what I wanted to study in college and all that. But, in spite of my plans and expectations, life has, at times, taken me in totally unexpected directions. It is at such times, I suppose, that I am reminded of how little I really do control.

"Life is what happens to you," said John Lennon, "while you're busy making other plans."

That's OK, I guess. I'm a journalist, by training, experience and inclination, and it can be difficult for a journalist to be in the dark, to not know all the facts, but journalists learn to live with imperfections like that. However, in the last couple of years, it seems like darn near everything is out of control. And there are many times when that is a little too imperfect for me.

I don't know the details of the accident that took the life of David's son, but to be 21 years old and (presumably) healthy and then to die in a car accident seems — to me, anyway — to be perhaps the most random way a person could die.

And the pain of losing your father and your child within a matter of months is something I cannot begin to imagine.

I've never been a fan of Garth Brooks, but he might be on to something when he sings that our lives are better left to chance.

Is there anything good to be found in this? I'd like to think so — for my friend's sake — and for my own peace of mind as well.

As I say, I've experienced seasons of loss in my life, and the one through which I have been living lately often seems as if it will never end. Such seasons have come and gone. In short order, bad times have been followed by good times in the natural ebb and flow of the human existence.

But lately the bad times seem to last longer than they did, and the good times are fewer and farther between. Is that just a normal function of aging?

Or has it been worse in the last couple of years because everything else seems to be so screwed up? You know what I mean — the avalanche effect.

I don't know why the Ecclesiastes quotation keeps running through my mind — unless it is because of the dual message it offers. Yes, it acknowledges that time is short — that, in the words of another popular song, it's later than you think.

But, rather than urge readers to enjoy themselves, Ecclesiastes offers the assurance that there is an appointed time for everything. In hindsight, that time may seem very short, and you may be denied the satisfaction of seeing your goal(s) fulfilled. But if one has faith, it seems to me, one must believe that, in some way, every life — no matter how brief it may be — makes a contribution.

My faith isn't always as strong as I'd like it to be, but I would like to believe that.

When It Rains, It Pours ...

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My friend, Brady, plays with my dog
(who died many years ago after running into
a street and being hit by a vehicle).

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Well, that's the saying, isn't it?

And I'm certainly feeling that way this week.

As I wrote yesterday, I learned that an old friend of the family died during the weekend. And then, a few hours later, I learned that the brother of one of my dearest friends, Brady (who can be seen in the attached picture), killed himself last night.

At this point, I don't know all the details. But I know Sam had a troubled life. His marriage had many bumpy spots — and, yes, I know that most marriages do, but his was complicated by the fact that his son shot and killed himself in the presence of Sam and his wife a few years back.

I know that was a difficult thing for Sam to come to terms with, but, in my last few conversations with Brady, he told me that Sam was handling things better and appeared to be more like the old Sam we all knew back in the day.

Appearances truly can be deceiving.

I've been away from Arkansas for a long time now, so I've been out of the loop on a lot of things that have happened there, but I presume that depression played major roles in the suicides of both Sam and his son.

Depression is a tricky thing. People struggle with it for all kinds of reasons so there is no one–size–fits–all remedy for it, nor is there a simple checklist of symptoms to watch for in making a diagnosis about depression.

In the last couple of years, I've heard reports of people who killed themselves and their families after losing their jobs in the recession — which led me to believe (and I still do) that a prolonged period of high unemployment in this country will be accompanied by a spike in the suicide rate.

But joblessness certainly isn't the only thing that depresses people and leads some to commit suicide.

Earlier this year, a member of my church killed herself. She was fairly new to the congregation and wasn't particularly well known, but, as the pastor told us one Sunday after she died, in hindsight he saw no red flags that anyone had missed. In fact, he had been deceived because, in her final weeks, things in her life seemed to be moving in a positive direction.

She wasn't unemployed. Whatever demons were tormenting her went with her to her grave.

A few months ago, I wrote about the suicide of the father of two of my childhood friends. He was in his mid–80s and, when I spoke to one of his sons a couple of years ago, had been in good health. His son told me at the time that his father had been working out in a local gym three times a week.

But his health apparently took a turn for the worst in the last year or so. When he took his life, he had been home from the hospital for only a few days.

All these recent suicides are a bit ironic, I guess, because I actually wrote about suicides last year, and I made the point at that time that people commit suicide for all kinds of reasons.

Sometimes the reasons aren't obvious. Life isn't a movie. People don't always leave notes that explain why they decided to take this step. Sometimes it's a burden that the folks left behind have to carry. For some, I suppose, it's too much to bear.

We've always known that some people handle adversity better than others do. I'm not an expert in mental health, but I wonder if there is some genetic factor involved. Maybe it's something that is missing in some people.

Perhaps that would explain a lot. But it wouldn't explain everything. Unfortunately, that is what the parents and siblings of a suicide probably need most — an explanation for why this happened.

I guess that is the greatest barrier to reaching a level of acceptance — not knowing why.

I know that, when my mother died, I heard a lot of people talk about "closure" as if it were the holy grail for mourners. It may be possible for some to achieve closure, but, in 15 years, I haven't found it — and I know why Mom died. I'm sure closure is even more elusive for those who lose loved ones to suicide.

My friend Brady has been through a lot. He was close to his brother, and I'm sure the days ahead will be tough for him, his family and his friends.

But Brady and I have known each other for many years. And if it is possible to achieve closure, he can do it.