This is a picture of me and my best friend Brandan. Most of you haven’t met him, but we’ve been close since we were awkward adolescents. Even if we were often this awkward, we weren’t always that close.  When we crossed paths in middle school, I thought he was a poster child for weird loner. Look who’s talking, right? Mutual friends vouched for him, but his black trenchcoat and bravado said otherwise. By Freshman year, a mutual love for games, girls and--Dio help me--Limp Bizkit put us on a fast track to friendship. We began to share secrets, rebellious antics and a mounting rabble of inside jokes. I confessed to him about an unrequited (and unhealthy) crush of mine. A year later, when Brandan began dating the same girl, I felt the scourge of envy more deeply than I ever had before or since. When they split, our paths reconvened for good.

As high school wore on, we became more brothers than friends. Our families blurred, too. I’ll never forget the first time I got behind the wheel of a vehicle. During my driving lesson, I nearly took Brandan and his mom Sheri with me off an embankment at Glendo beach. He was always a natural driver and thrill seeker--he helped me get better at both! In September 2001, another reality check. The afternoon when my mom got the phone call from the state trooper telling us my dad had died, Brandan was one of three friends on hand to keep me upright. He broke the uncomfortable silence in my bedroom with a puerile joke that could have put him in the hospital. But with Brandan, I just had to laugh. We laughed so much back then. And argued. Since adolesence, Brandan's still the only person I've ever struck out of anger. Like brothers, we occasionally fought but always reconciled. After high school we drifted, but as silt around different stones, traversing the same riverbed. It never crossed my mind that we would settle in different banks.
 

Brandan’s 30th birthday would have been this Thanksgiving week. But he isn’t here to celebrate this milestone. That’s because shortly before New Year’s Day 2011, Brandan made the decision to take his own life.
 

I have been thinking about Brandan a lot recently. Since I’m looking back from the threshold of my fourth decade, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that Brandan should be here with me. So many of my memories feature Brandan in a starring role. The last one was a tragic one: the January afternoon when I served as the officiant to my best friend’s funeral. As someone who usually savors the opportunity for public speaking, I have never held the podium with more gravity. Or honor. And although I desperately want to see that solemn day as the closing point for our relationship, four years on, Brandan has never left my side for long. I still grasp at paperthin memories, frightened of losing another aspect of him. I watch the clock at night, reliving the phone calls from Mary and Ben and Lori that left me catatonic four years ago. I talk to him in the car on the way to work and wait for him to interrupt me. He never does.
 

This personal tragedy, shared deeply by those who also loved Brandan, is all-too common in our home state. In a report on suicide published by the Wyoming Department of Health, the state reported 130 suicides in 2010. That same year, the statewide suicide rate was 23 deaths out of 100,000 residents. Nationwide, suicide is the tenth most common cause of death. In the Cowboy State, it’s the fifth (and in young Wyomingites, the second) leading cause of death. These cold numbers are even more gruesome when put this into a global context: if Wyoming was a country, its suicide rate would be the 8th highest in the world. Personal and professional speculations for this crisis for this abound, but it’s difficult to make a case for further negligence around suicide and related welfare concerns of mental health and substance abuse.

I have personally known three young men who took their lives before they’d hardly begun. All Wyoming sons, but their stories bear vastly different circumstances. As the DOH report itself acknowledges on page one, “Unfortunately, there is no easy answer to the problem. The dynamic of suicide is hard to understand, and even more difficult to confront effectively.” And yet how often do we succumb to hopelessness in the face of this awful trend? Instead, how can we rise above to help those who are are still here?
 

Last Saturday, November 22, was National Suicide Survivor’s Day. A day for those still here to share memories of those they’ve lost. If you’ve read this far, you’ve shared in some of my grief. And as indifferent or anonymous as it might seem, I sincerely appreciate that. I still miss and think of Brandan often, and particularly this month, his shadow has loomed large in my daily life. It’s perhaps inevitable that I would look back on all the ‘could haves’ that I think Brandan deserved in life. I regret that I didn’t reach him on the phone to wish him a happy 26th birthday. I desperately wish he could have met my wife Rachel and stood up at our wedding this September. I would give anything to know he had basked in the care and love he deserved in his own life.
 

As I approach my own milestone birthday, I mourn the death of my best friend. But I also think about what we can do to help our loved ones walking a similar path in life. That’s why I’d like to dedicate to my own birthday, December 27th, to Brandan’s memory and do whatever I can to help those who are suffering as he did. This year, I won’t ask for presents or a party, but a gift to honor Brandan’s memory.

I’ve established this webpage through the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention that will be open between now and December 31st. Donations will go towards the Wyoming chapter of the AFSP. I chose this charity due to their support for community outreach programs, clinical research and commitment to lobbying for social change in the face of this painfully silent crisis. I support the AFSP’s belief that suicide prevention is a pressing concern for people of all walks of life. If you would consider buying me so much as a beer for my birthday, I implore you, please put it towards this memorial instead.
 

I know the subject of suicide makes people uncomfortable. If you’re reluctant or unable to donate to the AFSP, there are so many other ways to make your voice heard in this growing conversation. I do acknowledge that mental health, like any public health concern, is not a problem we can solve with any amount of money. But there are avenues we can take to help. If you work in public service, you are a gatekeeper for awareness. The Suicide Prevention Resource Center has published best practices for evidence-based approaches to suicide prevention. If this post struck close to home for you or someone you care about, take the first step to recovery. This could be exploring professional counseling, talking to your doctor, or getting help anonymously.
 

Of course, many of us know that this step can seem like an impossible one. Brandan, for one, possessed a deep distrust for psychiatry and even viewed me with contempt for seeing a counselor a year after my father died. “What in the hell do you need that for?”, he spouted on the walk home from school after I confided in him. I just needed help; we all do sometimes. The important, and sometimes difficult, part is recognizing that in ourselves and our loved ones. Don’t ignore potential warning signs. Looking back at Brandan’s Facebook page, it was riddled with cries for help in the months before his death. One of my deepest regrets is ignoring my instinct to call him, even just to listen. As simple as it might be, giving one another the opportunity to talk through our issues is one of the greatest gifts we can provide. Don’t underestimate what listening can do; I’ve seen firsthand the difference between opening a door and keeping it ‘safely’ locked.
 

In a brief note he wrote to me that December, Brandan revealed something that I’ve pondered countless times since. He wrote, “What you’ve done with your life...it’s truly amazing.” My feelings about that have swirled from rage and guilt to wonder and gratitude. For me the tinted glass outlook on suicide as a selfish act has been shattered. The desperation I have now to keep ahold of my friend, that’s what feels selfish to me. His suffering overpowered him, took him to a place most of us never hope to glimpse. But that fact doesn't change who Brandan was or the monumental role he continues to play in my life.

At the precipice of 30 years, I believe that there are some truly amazing things in my life. None more so than the people I share it with. As we take stock of our blessings this Thanksgiving, my friend Brandan will have as hallowed a place as always. Please join me to do some good in his memory, as we shared so many positive things in life. Thank you for your help and support.

With love and gratitude,

John
November 22, 2014