A Terrible Waste

On last Winter's cruise, all was great until one evening D2 turned on D1's cell phone, and had a message from D1's roommate: a sorority sister, en route to her Ohio home for the holidays, had been killed in a car crash. D1 was of course upset, and cried, and we spent the rest of the trip saddened by the unfairness of life.

This year, on the final night of the trip, D1 turned on HER cell phone as we sailed off the Florida coast, and an urgent message came on: one of D2's friends had also died, on Christmas Eve.

D2 was devastated. The young man was a close friend of hers, and he killed himself with an overdose of pain medication.

He was a FSU freshman. He was tall, handsome, and brilliant. He's been to our house many times over the years, and I was always struck by his charm and maturity.

2 years ago, he took too much Xanax, and was found unconscious in his house. He went through rehab, and seemed to be back on track. He graduated last May, and I saw him and his parents before the senior prom. All seemed fine. I guess not.

Apparently, he remained very troubled, and decided to stay in Tally for the break. After a few days of non contact, his parents asked the police to check, and they made the horrible discovery.

Well, he made an awful, irrevocable decision, and now he's gone, of course. He'll be mourned, and glamorized as are all who, James Dean or Jim Morrison-like, die young.

But his parents? I don't know them well, but can there ever be a recovery for them?

There's a memorial service set for Tuesday, at his family's synagogue. He was raised Jewish, though his father was Christian. I'm off to Orlando that day, to see my Canes play in a bowl game, and I've never felt more relieved about missing an event. The Ds will go. I have a feeling that Wifey will be elsewhere during the service -- losing an 18 year old is just too close to home, as the cliche goes.

D2 tells me that the young man's father, a succesful writer and college professor, has already spoken to some of the friends, and, as a very spiritual man, told them that some are just fated to be here fewer years than others.

I don't know him well, and I grieve for his pain.

Dr. Barry, along with his stellar accomplishments, has an odious one: he's been to several children's funerals. It goes with the territory of being a pediatric intensive care doc.

When called upon to speak, he always quotes a passage, beautifully written, by a young rabbi from the 50s named Josh Liebman, who wrote a book called "Peace of Mind." Liebman died very young, but was a wise man, and gifted writer. He compared life to a child's glorious day in a park, which sometimes ended too soon, as when a winter storm blew in, and the child was put down to sleep by the gentle nurse called Death.

The words offer comfort, and I plan to send them to the parents of the young man.

What a terrible waste.