Last Saturday I learned that one of my old preschool parents had committed suicide.
It struck me hard, and I thought of this very kind and gentle fellow all week.
I'd kept in touch casually over the years and I knew he'd been struggling.
Life is a struggle.
It hurts my heart that he wasn't able to hang on.
He was a lovely person and appeared to have many people in his life that would agree with my assessment.
I'll gather with some of them in the morning, in a bar.
My friend M will go with me, and we wont know the others, I imagine.
We only knew him as a dad.
As a sweet soul who was willing to help.
Willing to garden, or cook, or clean.