I got word yesterday afternoon that, at some point earlier in the day, a cycling friend, with whom I'd ridden, literally, thousands of miles, committed suicide. The demons plaguing him since his wife's sudden death 18 months ago must have become too much for him, so he sought solace in eternal silence from this world; or, I suppose as much.
M--- had been on my mind for over a month, for I'd not seen him on any rides or elsewhere in so very long. I'd intended to call, or at least email, and I did not; it seemed as though when the thought occurred to me, it was not at a convenient point in time (in the midst of a ride, whilst teaching school), and the thought would be gone by the time it was no longer inconvenient. In essence, M--- was forgotten.
Sadly, this came to be too real yesterday, at least, perhaps, from M---'s perspective. Perhaps he felt forgotten or at least out of place; everyone around him still has their significant others. Everyone around him went about their daily lives, thinking, wishing he would "get over" the death of C---. I know I still miss C---, so I cannot fathom what the pain, the absence must have been like for M---.
This is a total departure from what I typically write here, but, being my blog, I can pretty-much write whatever the <expletive> I want. Additionally, having had the past 15 hours to think, mold into words what, previously, was only shock and silence, I finally felt ready to say something; writing is that outlet for me. Funny, me being an English teacher & all.
I need to go. The car's radiator needs replacing and, in a sad twist of irony, I'm off to pay more heed to the needs of a machine than I did to the needs of a friend. Thanks for reading.