This was in the year 1995 when he took his life. I had graduated high school the year before; he was in college and a couple years older than me.

John and I had a pact: If we felt that depressed we would call one another. We would talk through the issues at hand. John called me, but I was at work. I couldn't talk with him; my employer was a tough place. I could tell something was wrong with him. Flash forward to the next morning, about 4:45AM – 5:30 (time was a bit off for me at this point). I get a call from my foster sister that said, "Regan, I have to tell you something pretty bad. John killed himself this morning."

I was in total shock, "What the hell? That's not a nice prank! Why the hell would you call me and tell me a lie like that!"

My foster sister's best friend was John's neighbor. She's the one that found him, therefore she called my sister so she could tell me before I got wind from somewhere else. Apparently John and his father had argued about his college course grades. He was studying forestry, and getting A's and B's. His father wanted High As, no Bs, and a grade point average of 4.0 or he'd refuse to assist with college funding anymore. His father was a hard ****, and a jerk. He would tell John he'd never make it, he was a loser, he was the family's embarrassment.His father left for work, and job ate his shot gun. His neighbor, my foster sister's best friend, heard it. Ran next door, and found him. I remember hanging up on my sister, after some unpleasantries (is that even a word?) over the phone. I remember getting into my little yellow happy car and driving to John's house. As I circled the block where he lived, I had seen the EMT pulling him out of the house in a cadaver bag, on a gurney rolling him towards the coroner's van. This was around 5:45AM. I don't remember the rest of the day. I remember glimpses.

Standing at the foot of my parent's bed, starring at them, hollow, quiet and numb.

I hadn't seen them in many months, for I had separated myself from them; Hence the foster sister part.

I remember being in my mom's truck with her, driving my sister to some dance recital / cheer leading thing.

Then I remember being at home in my bed.About a week passes, his parents are A-HOLES. They dispose of him without a funeral, and wouldn't tell any of his friends where he was placed / buried. We didn't even know until five years later that he was cremated. His parents literally swept it under the rug. I only found out because they came into my place of employment, and I blatantly asked them.Our pastor allowed us to have our own funeral. He did the ceremony, opened the church and invited all his friends to come in for closure. I helped set it up, for I was his closest friend. I went to the faux funeral, but couldn't gather enough courage to go in. I watched as my friends, John's friends, mingled and gathered as they entered the daunting facility. I couldn't face it; I didn't want to face it. I stayed in my car. I fell asleep in the parking lot outside of the church; I was so exhausted putting up a phony plastered smile for everyone else.

I dreamt that John came to me. He led me through a headstone painted landscape, to a cement wall. The wall was about waist high, and we sat upon it. The wall didn't have a plaque, but I knew it was his. He told me why he did it, he told me where he was placed, and then he told me not to worry. He was appointed to be my guardian, to follow and protect over me. He then hugged me, tightly. I could smell the woodsy smell on his flannel he always wore. I could feel his lumberjack beard brush and tickle my neck, and I awoke.

As I woke, I could still feel his arms holding me very tightly. I was crying so hard when I woke up, I was choking. My car smelled like the earth around the cemetery, the woodsy smell of John.To this day I have no doubt he came to me.

To this day I cannot get over the angry of why he left.

To this day I cannot get over the angry of why his family treated him that way.

To this day I have no patience for people who declare they're going to kill themselves; it's a selfish act.

On a side note, here was my daily Hindu wisdom today.. which I received AFTER posting this.

No one can die. None can be degraded forever. Life is but a playground, however gross the play may be. However we may receive blows and however knocked about we may be, the Soul is there and is never injured. We are that Infinite.

-Vivekananda

From "Teachings of the Hindu Mystics," © 2001 by Andrew Harvey. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston, http://www.shambhala.com.

Told ya my story was a long one… it just takes oomph to talk or write about it. But I do believe he watches over me. I get weird things that happen to remind me so.