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Just 26. Brimming with every good quality a human can possess. Not only living but thriving to the outside observer. He was an athlete, an artist, a musician, a friend. Passionate about melodies and rhythms most of us could scarcely imagine. A musician in the truest form. His tender interior juxtaposed against a Greek-god physique. Smiling, jovial, considerate, present and aware. Admired and revered as a brother and a friend.
And, sadly, haunted by shadows. Shadows that stalked his every move. Possibly his every thought. His strengths, his contributions to the world — minimized and exploited by his demons. The darkness telling him he was never enough. That he was less than worthy. The darkness threatened to consume him. The darkness ultimately did.
It’s been a year now. An interesting year. A difficult year. Life for the rest of us has gone on. The world has still turned as we anticipated it would. While we could make this all about ourselves by lamenting how we could have done more, or bemoaning how shocked and grief-stricken we are, none of us are victims to this. Quite the opposite, actually. For knowing him, we are all the better. We are collectively honored to have been even a small part of his life. Better yet, to have been a friend to him.
We can understand only a mere fraction of the weight he felt in facing the world each and every day. And that’s okay. It’s okay for all of us to know as much, or as little, about what we speculate he must have been feeling over the weeks, months, and years leading up to his untimely end. Perhaps his struggle spanned the course of his lifetime. We will never know. Our job isn’t to understand his plight or even to feel what he felt. Our job isn’t to prevent it from happening to other friends with similar struggles. Our job is to remember him. To be grateful for him. To acknowledge the courage he demonstrated in his life and in his passing. To recall his effusive love for his friends. To remember the beauty of his music. To contemplate the things he held dear. To celebrate the ways in which he shared himself with the world.
Jeremy was my brother in arms, and we fought more than a few battles together. Our battlefield was the basketball court and the arena of life. Funny how a trifling little sport can actually reveal so much of a person’s inner nature, form such a bond, and foment a brotherhood. Basketball taught us how to win together and laugh at losing. How to miss every free throw and still hit game-winners. How to dunk on one end and trip over our feet on the other. But we owe that sport a thousand accolades for the friendships it fostered. Jeremy played like the scrimmage was the real deal — he defended us tooth and nail. His passion for the game put his heart on full display. Whether on the court or off, Jeremy surged with enthusiasm and life.
He was committed to being his best self. He demonstrated emotional, intellectual, and physical attributes we all admired and perhaps even wished for. He’d want me to write this part: we’ll never forget his more than 42″ vertical leap. That part was pure envy, not admiration! He crafted everything he touched into his own. Not because of some innate gift exclusive to him, but because he dedicated himself to the hours it took to be great.
Jeremy and his friends enjoyed a depth of friendship. We shared tears, we shared stories, we shared emotions. The scope of his friendship was not commonplace. The scope of his support and praise for others was not commonplace. And the scope with which we remember him will not be commonplace.
Sure, suicide is how he left this world. But it certainly isn’t what he left this world with. In the days and weeks following his passing, there was a distinct feeling of loss but an even greater feeling of having missed out on something truly special. And the abandoned potential can’t be counterbalanced by some platitude about how “we’ll never forget you” or how “you’re in a better place now.” While those things may be true, nothing takes the place of your absence. Nothing and no one will ever supplant or supersede you. You were singular, Jeremy. And we loved you.
Thank you for choosing us as your friends. For experiencing life with us. For involving us in all that is you. For influencing us just as we influenced you. For infusing your life with ours for cherished years that proved to be all too brief.
Thank you, Jeremy, for making us better people — because we are better for having known you.
Originally published on Medium.
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