Some of you are probably wondering why I ended my life, some of you are probably angry at me, and some of you probably don’t care. I think it’s pretentious to write a suicide note, but it seems to be the thing to do.
— Ryan, September 2005
Ryan
I first met Ryan in 2001. We went on a few dates and then settled into a friendship. As fellow geeks, we had many common interests. We’d hang out, showing off our newest gadgets (remember the Nokia N-Gage?), debating the religious arguments like vi vs. Emacs, and tabs vs. spaces and watching Star Trek over Ezell’s Fried Chicken. We saw each other every so often, and we always had fun together. Ryan was sweet, smart, handsome, well read. Professionally, he was successful, having worked at prominent technology companies. He owned his own condo, had a very Seattle eco-friendly car. He was well liked by a lot of people.
Gone
In September 2005, I was driving home from work, just about to get onto the 520 bridge to Seattle, when my phone rang. I answered it without looking. A woman’s voice asked is this Josh Cohen? Yes, I replied. Not recognizing the number I figured she was some telemarketer, a call I should have just ignored.
This is Ryan’s mother. Ryan took his life last night…
… It hit me like a ton of bricks. I honestly couldn’t tell you the exact words she said after that, but it seemed like she was reading from a script. Roughly, she said that Ryan had put my name on a list of people to call to let them know and to give information about services, as well as a site and letter he had left to be published on the internet. Always the geek.
Can you imagine being a parent who must go through a list of people, a list I suspect was not short, and call each one to tell them this grim news about your child? It had to be unbearable.
I hung up the phone. I couldn’t believe it. Ryan? Really? WTF?
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