A Friend of Mine Died Last Week

A young friend of mine died last week. He was supposed to be with us at a mid-December long weekend Retreat held for the Alumni of the Trial Lawyers College. He bought his plane ticket, but he never called and he never showed. His family found him in his apartment on the Tuesday after that Retreat weekend, alone and dead.

My friend struggled with alcohol and ---in the end--- lost that lonely struggle. Of course, the devastating loss was sad and tragic and left all of us at sea emotionally. However, the news chilled the base of my spine for entirely different reasons.

On an earlier Alumni Board Retreat weekend some years ago, I accidentally shared a TLC-style room with Mark. I say the room-sharing was accidental because, upon my arrival, I poked my head into the room looking for someone I knew, perhaps a Class of 2002 pal. Mark was already in the room and greeted me warmly. Although I scarcely knew him, he called me by name. How was my trip? Had I any difficulty in locating the joint? Suitcase still in hand, I intended to chat amiably for a bit and then look for another room occupied by someone I knew. But, I never did. Instead, I threw my bag onto the unused bed while we exchanged pleasantries and that was that.

We talked late into the night on the 2 evenings we were together. This was the first time I'd ever spent any time with him because I regarded him as quirky and different. He knew I had been in Recovery for many years and he was curious about my story. I related it in the dark, almost by rote, not realizing at that time that he was in a knife fight in a dark room with his own demons. To be honest, at least one incident over that weekend led me to suspect my friend may have been a candidate for admission to my club. Notwithstanding that radar blip, I did not press him. We’re taught Recovery is a program of attraction, not promotion. We do not corral or give advice. We just share our own experience, strength and hope. Thus, the conversation meandered onto other subjects. As I listened to him from my little single bed across our shared room, one could determine quickly that the guy was bright and inquisitive. He was kind and caring about who I was as a person. We talked about relationships and agreed they were hard, requiring a type of effort and work which often eluded us completely. We discovered we both liked to read and we talked books. After that weekend, a book would occasionally show up in the mail from my friend, with a quickly jotted note: You’ll like this, J.R. –Mark

During the next summer, at a Grad Program, we shared a powerful session where I helped direct a psychodrama in which my friend was a protagonist. Because of the connection forged earlier, he asked for my help in that session. Whenever I saw him after that, he was always the first one to come up to me and say hello -- always the first one to reach out. I would chat with him, secretly wondering how much time I should devote to the conversation so that the accepted conventions of social correctness could be observed. Then, I would bolt. In more recent months, it was mentioned that he was "struggling" and "having problems" and more gradually still it was mentioned that he had an "alcohol problem."

I heard all this. I knew it. And, knowing of my friend's struggles as I did and knowing how alcohol had debilitated and nearly ruined me, I never once reached out to my friend as he had reached out to me.

That chill at the base of my spine? I knew what it was as soon as I felt it.

It was wrenching regret and shame.

So....I'm remembering this morning what John Nolte would often say to me when my burning regret and shame percolated into the open during a drama:

"Just feel that, J.R."