we're two ships that pass in the night

I met Jonathan three times. 

The first time I met Jonathan was at the end of February 1982. I was an art student, working at my cousin's heath food restaurant in Center City Philadelphia. Jonathan came in to the restaurant with a date. His date would become my wife two years later. Jonathan and the future Mrs. Pincus were close friends growing up. Their parents were friends. Actually, the first time young Mrs. P laid eyes on him, she was head-over-heels in love. It was a strange bit of "kismet" that Jonathan chose to bring her to the restaurant where I worked on that particular evening. I didn't really have too much to say to Jonathan. I remember he was a good-looking guy, but I was too busy chatting up his pretty companion. She, however, thought I was the most obnoxious person she ever met. I know this, because she told me so. Right then and there.

The next time I saw Jonathan was in 2001. My wife, my son and I attended the bat mitzvah of a classmate of my son. The young lady, Gabby, was Jonathan's niece. After the service, we mingled among the guests. Jonathan approached us. My wife smiled at Jonathan, although he didn't look at all familiar to me. He and Mrs. Pincus embraced. He shook my hand and turned to my then thirteen year-old son and introduced himself. "I'm your mom's first husband.," he said, with a wink. My son, a bit panicked, turned to me and cocked his head in confusion. (Just a note: That is not something you say to a thirteen year-old.) We explained that Jonathan was an old friend and he was, indeed, kidding.

I saw Jonathan one more time. It was a week or so ago, just after Labor Day 2016. Actually, I saw him at the same synagogue that our paths crossed fifteen years earlier. This time, however, it was not for a joyous occasion. We were joining hundreds of other mourners at a post-funeral shiva for Jonathan's sister-in-law Linda, who had passed away after a long struggle with cancer. Mrs. P and I maneuvered our way through the crowd, shaking hands and patting backs, until we came upon Jonathan. Again, like they had done previously, my wife hugged Jonathan. Jonathan shook my hand heartily and said, "How'ya doing, buddy?" I don't believe that he remembered my name, but that was okay. He was friendly enough and exhibited no hard feelings that I was happily married to his one-time date for the past 32 years.

Jonathan took his own life on September 16, taking with him the opportunity to see him again.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

only a memory

Six years ago, my friend Sam took his own life.

My wife and I were out. After coming home late, I ran upstairs to my computer to check my email before climbing into bed. I scrolled through several solicitations and offers from companies that I had made a single purchase and now would not free me from their marketing lists. I saw a notification of a comment on my blog (A nasty one, no doubt, from someone who I had offended. I get those a lot.) And then I saw one from a email address that I did not recognize. It was from my friend Sam's sister informing me that Sam had passed away the day before.

Sam was one of my closest friends from the time we met in high school. Over the years, Sam had moved around a lot — California, Arizona, Florida. Despite large gaps in the time between contact, he always let me know where he was and what he was doing. I had sent him a text message and a picture of my son and me as we shoveled a couple of feet of snow off of our driveway in February 2010. Sam, who living in West Palm Beach at the time, replied that it was time for me to move to the Sunshine State. I laughed as I read it out loud to my son. That was three weeks — almost to the day — before I received that email from Sam's sister.

Sam was cremated in Florida and a memorial service was held for friends and relatives still residing in the Philadelphia area. I reconnected with a bunch of friends that I had not seen since I attended high school over thirty years earlier. Although were all saddened by the occasion, we still managed to joyfully reminisce about the past and catch up on our lives since. A few of us even went out for dinner after the service for more camaraderie — both happy and sad. Afterwards, we all made plans and promises not to let so much time pass between us. We all exchanged contact information — cell phone numbers, email addresses, Linked In and Facebook locations. With so many more outlets of "getting in touch," we couldn't possibly stray from each other now.

When I got home I emailed a few people that I had seen at the service. I also did a quick "Google" search of some other friends that I did not see, but thought about. Within the next few months, I had lunch with two close high school friends and one from elementary school. My wife and I went to a friend's house where we spent a fun-filled evening with several classmates and their spouses  — some we had known, some we met for the first time. We invited those same couples to our annual "Night before Thanksgiving" gathering, although only one couple could make it. I was invited to the birthday party of a friend who was an usher at my wedding. 

And then, contact stopped.

Everyone, I suppose, went on with their lives — myself included. Business as usual. We fell back into our routines, our jobs, our daily responsibilities. I know that our lives have become more complicated, more demanding, more tumultuous, more everything since the carefree days of high school. Back then, we didn't have to worry about our children or our parents or if the mortgage would get paid on time. Our biggest concern was a date for Saturday or passing a history test.  Maybe youth fleeting away was more than Sam could take.

Although we are all busy with our lives, I hope they think about Sam as often as I do.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

don't try suicide

I personally knew two people who committed suicide.

I went to high school with Merrill. Although he was a year behind me, he was in my art major class when I was a senior. Our relationship could be classified as "frenemies," decades before that term was coined. We weren't exactly friends, but we did, on occasion, hang out together. For a brief time, we also dated the same girl. During those few months, I think we fell into the "enemies" category. He was very into music (as was I) and very into drugs (as I was not). He also had a very intense personality that was somewhat unpredictable and bordered on violent. When I graduated from high school, I thought (secretly hoped) I'd never see him again. And I almost never did, until years later, when my wife's best friend introduced me to the guy she was dating. It was Merrill. They had a tumultuous relationship – passionate one minute and vicious the next. He eventually married and divorced someone who was not Mrs. P's friend, although that never stopped them from continuing to see each other. His brief marriage produced a child that calmed Merrill's malice down just a bit, but not enough to change his fate.

In 1997, the ringing phone in our bedroom broke the silence of the wee morning hour. A ringing telephone in the middle of the night rarely brings good news. I fumbled for the receiver in the darkness with only the faint illumination from my alarm clock to guide me. I whispered a throaty "Hello," and was greeted by the distant, tinny reply of Mrs. P's friend's uncontrollable sobs. Through her hysterics, I was able to decipher a few words, specifically "Merrill killed himself." A jarring bolt shot through me. I nudged my wife and passed her the phone. Her friend elaborated as my spouse sat up, blankets wrapped around her shoulders, mouth agape in silent dubiety.

Merrill had phoned Mrs. P's friend and dramatically told her he had a gun and was going to end it all. Always one to be the flamboyant center of attention, he waited patiently in a second-floor bedroom as Mrs. P's friend rushed to his house. He waited until he heard the sounds of her struggling with the front door until it opened. He took that as his cue to pull the trigger, wanting her to hear the shot and knowing that she'd be just seconds too late to save his life. It was so obvious that he had selfishly planned the whole scene and it played out exactly as he had hoped. Looking back, I think Merrill's suicide was expected by a lot of people who knew him.

While innocently checking my email one evening in March 2010, I was blindsided. I read and reread an email I received announcing that my friend Tanner had passed away. The email, from Tanner's sister, was a sentence or two in length, only explaining that Tanner resided in Florida and that his death was sudden. I replied quickly, asking for further details. The response was just as vague as the initial email, but alluded to a still-in-the-planning-stages memorial service for Tanner's Philadelphia friends and family.

The next weekend, I found myself in the community room of a suburban high-rise apartment building twenty minutes from my house. This was the designated place for the memorial service. The room began to fill with people I had not seen for nearly thirty years. We shared stories and anecdotes about Tanner's life. We laughed and cried and shook our heads in disbelief. Although I had not seen Tanner himself for quite some time. I often heard from him in the form of an email or text. He regularly kept me apprised of his whereabouts and latest endeavors. I had heard from him last just a month prior to the final email from his sister.

Just after the service ended, Tanner's sister pulled me aside and told me that Tanner had taken his own life. Through tears, she elaborated that Tanner was a very, very troubled man. Internal trouble that had lasted many, many years. I had a hard time understanding this, as I had known Tanner to be a funny, upbeat character who could ably match my twisted sense of humor blow-for-blow. She described his long-time battles with depression and how he hid it the best he could... until he couldn't hide it any more.

Merrill and Tanner didn't know each other, however they both chose to end their lives the same way and on their terms. I wonder, when coming to the conclusion that suicide was the only solution to their individual dilemmas, did they consider the can of worms they were opening up for those they were leaving behind?

Or did they just not consider anything?

www.joshpincusiscrying.com