I want to take some time for myself, a little break from the pressure of my capstone project and many other assignments, to write down a few words. And I want to share it because my friend has taught me a few lessons about life that I need to reflect on as I struggle towards the end of the semester.
This is my friend Will. We knew each other from UofT. He was a highly intelligent person and he ended up going to Harvard Law School. More importantly, he was a kind and warm soul. One of the best human beings. But in 2017, he lost his battle with the darkness. I’ve held him in my heart ever since.
Before you read any further, I want to give a trigger warning: I will be talking about suicide. So if you’re not ready to keep going, feel free to step away. Just know that if you need someone to talk to, you’re always welcome to reach out to me.
Will was a wonderful human being. He was wickedly smart. I remember the conversations I had with him, where he seemed to know everything, but was also humble when he didn’t know. He was always curious, asking questions, trying to understand when he didn’t. He was engaging and he listened – something I don’t think many people do these days. And we didn’t always agree, but he always had time for you – to hear you out, to probe your argument, and to propose other ideas. He was an intellectual. But he never held that against you. Intelligent, but humble.
But most importantly, he was a kind and warm soul. Whenever I saw him, he would always take the time to ask how I was doing, how I was feeling, what’s been going on in my life. He cared about people. He offered help when you needed it. He used to give these great, big bear hugs that felt so comforting.
I remember all of the nights at 2nd Massey common room, just hanging out. And when we got hungry late at night, he was always “down” to go get shawarma or pad thai or whatever craving it was that night. He always used to invite me to his poker night. I went one time and got smoked by how good everyone else was. But he still encouraged me. And whenever I saw him outside of a party smoking a cigar, he always seemed to have an extra reserved just for me. I always accepted but always asked if I could pay him back. And he always insisted that there was no worries and that my presence alone was enough. We always had deep conversations outside, smoking a cigar, sipping a whiskey (he was a connoisseur of scotch – I was not).
His favourite music artist was Regina Spektor. None of our friends knew her music, except for me, as I had listened to Regina’s ”Us” and ”Samson” in high school. So when he wanted to see Regina’s show at the Sony Music Hall and no one else wanted to go, I happily went with him. I remember he knew all the words and I think he might’ve bought merch.
It was March 24th 2017. Five years ago today. A friend reached out to me – I don’t remember anymore who broke the news. Will had passed away late the night before or early that morning, and it was supposedly suicide. I broke down crying. The news hit really hard. What do you do when you hear this kind of news? I just felt numb and sick. I didn’t know what to do.
It fucking hurt.
The news hurt particularly hard for me because of my own experiences with suicide. Yes, I’ve almost walked out into the darkness. I’ve struggled with my bipolar disorder and depression. This is always tough to put out there publicly, but I didn’t just want to do it – I did it. But I’m still here. For whatever reason, I’m still alive.
When I heard about Will, I felt guilt. Why did he have to leave? Why didn’t I?
Why am I still here? And why isn’t he?
They left. I stayed.
In the five years since, these questions have haunted me. And I still don’t have answers.
All I know is that I don’t want anyone to do it. I don’t want it to happen to anyone else. I don’t want them to leave.
And I want to stay. At least a little while longer.
When I’ve found myself in that darkness and wanted to walk out into the night, leave, and never come back, I remember Will. And he’s inspired me to keep going. To keep pursuing my dreams. To celebrate life.
I lost a friend, we lost a friend five years ago. But we live on. And we continue one day and one night at a time.
Every year, March 23 and 24 always hurt. My body and mind shut down. I feel numb and just find myself crying at random times in the day.
This year hits particularly hard. I’m in the final few weeks of my Master’s and I’m struggling. I’m feeling the pressure. And, I’m not going to lie: I am scared.
I don’t want to find an explanation for Will’s death, because we just don’t know. It’s unexplainable. But I’ve been reflecting about how he was in the final few weeks of his first year at Harvard Law. I can only imagine the pressure he was under. The hurt that he was hiding from everyone.
I recognize that finding lessons in a tragedy might cheapen the devastation we all feel. But every year, I have to reflect on how Will’s death is affecting me now. And I’ve learnt that life and health are the most important things. I have to remind myself that as I’m struggling with school and work, we all need to take some time to breathe, look at the broader perspective, and realize that grades and assignments are not the end all and be all. This too shall pass. And taking care of yourself and your health – taking care of myself and my health – are more important than any deadline or “A”. Life is more important and more beautiful than a few weeks of suffering, pressure, and guilt.
Five years later, it’s still not very easy. I still don’t have all of the answers. The past two days have been hard for me. Please be patient with me.
But I’m still here. And I think I have a responsibility to live life to the fullest. To do it for Will. To continue to fight for life. To finish my degree and grow in my career. But most importantly, to celebrate life, to care for the people around me, to do the best in treating everyone kindly.
If you need someone to talk to, please reach out to me. I will always try to find time to listen to you. And to just sit with you and empathize. I’m here.
I miss you Will. I’ll keep fighting.
“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”