Greg...

It's been a year today since I last saw you.  I knew that you were hurting, and I understood your pain like none of your other friends could, because I had experienced it.  I did everything I possibly could to help you through things, but I failed.   You came to the conclusion that you couldn't take it anymore... that life was no longer worth living... so you left.

I remember you saying many times over the years that you didn't want to be a burden.  I kept trying to tell you that you weren't;  I kept trying to get you to understand how much you were -- are -- loved.  Now, I'm sitting here, trying to translate incoherent thoughts into understandable words, knowing that you'll never read what I'm writing.  I wish that you had chosen to remain, so that I could have continued helping you through your pain.  I wish that I had been able to say the right thing, so that you wouldn't have put that gun in your mouth and pulled the trigger.  I wish you were still here.

I wish that I could bring your friends and family the magic words that would end their sense of loss and grief.  I wish that I could bring them the healing that I failed to bring you.  I wish that I didn't have the experience of losing a friend to suicide.  I know that your death has helped me bring a small measure of comfort to others who have had someone close take their own life, but that's not really a comfort.  Helping others through a loved one's suicide is how we make sense of a senseless act.

Dude... you rocked my world, and not in a good way.  I've made my peace with your death, but there's something that you'll never get... you took a piece of me with you when you pulled the trigger.  That's right, a part of me died on October 27, 2015.  And I'm not the only one.  When you killed yourself, you killed a piece of all of your friends and loved ones.

Don't misunderstand, I've rediscovered my happiness.  But it's not the same.  I'm not quite as happy as I was before.  The closest analogy I can find is that you were my right arm, and now my right arm is gone.  I've adapted.  I've overcome, but you are a part of me that even the best prosthetic can never truly replace.

Please know that I'm not saying any of this out of anger.  I'm saying it only because I miss you man.  I hope I never stop missing you.  October is never going to be the same.