On Saturday night, June 26, my dear friend "Mr. G." shot himself in the head in the midst of an argument with his on-again, off-again girlfriend of about three years. I found out on Friday while on vacation.
I had received a missed call and recognized the number, but it wasn't programmed in my phone. When I Googled it, his parents' land line came up. I assumed it was Mr. G calling to catch up, so I planned to call him when I got home since chatting with my ex whilst sharing a vacation house with my boyfriend's family probably wouldn't be exercising the best judgment.
Later that day, however, I received a friend request on Facebook from a nurse who worked with Mr. G. in Bethel, Alaska back when he and I dated. I accepted her request and checked out her profile to see the following update: "Found out today that my friend XXX passed away. My prayers go out to his family. Lesson of the day. If you think something is wrong say something."
I was stunned. So I called his parents and his father answered the phone. Honestly, I don't remember much of the conversation, but his dad said that he was struggling with the recent heat wave we've had after having lived most of the past year or so in Alaska. He was also having a difficult time finding another travel nursing assignment, which surprised me given that nursing is generally considered recession-proof. But his dad said, "Well, he really didn't like to get his hands dirty."
Sadly, he's right.
Which leads to my pontification of why all this happened and my feeble attempt to make sense of it.
In The Road Less Traveled, one my favorite books of all time, M. Scott Peck starts off with his book with a simple sentence: "Life is difficult." Life kicks us around. It's often unfair. And it is full of heartbreaks, losses and crushing disappointments. Most of us fill it with things that make us happy: family, kids, friends, hobbies that fulfill us and make life more bearable and give us a sense of purpose.
Mr. G., for reasons no one will ever really understand, filled it with stuff.
In the two years I dated him, he purchased dozens of phones, laptops, digital cameras, tons of clothes and shoes. When we met, he was driving an Xterra, which he traded in for something else. Then something else. All told, he purchased seven or eight vehicles, each one dragging him deeper in debt, even after he had filed for bankruptcy several years earlier. He also purchased thousands of dollars worth of high-quality gear for hobbies he'd try once (if that) and abandon: camping, kayaking, rock-climbing.
Once he graduated from nursing school (by the skin of his teeth), he took a similar approach to his career, hopping from job to job every couple of months. Our relationship, as chronicled in this blog, was as unstable as the rest of his life. I think we broke up three times, the last time being when he met the woman who would be the last person to see him alive.
So while I was shocked to hear that he took his own life, I can't say that it surprises me now. What shocks me is what led him to pick up that gun and pull the trigger. He hit his girlfriend: something that goes against every single cell in his body.
He had a strict, bone-deep rule against raising a hand to a woman, and in the two years we dated, he never once uttered a cruel word against me. His girlfriend was bipolar and prone to violent mood swings. She was probably fed up with his traipsing across the country and stringing her along, to be honest. Maybe she hit him first. Maybe she threatened to kill herself and he hit her to distract her from harming herself. All I know for sure is that there is no way it was unprovoked. And the sequence of events probably took place in a matter of seconds.
I am saddened by all of this. He and I were always -- above everything else -- friends. We probably should have never dated because I knew he wasn't relationship material and probably never would be. But he was kind. He was funny. He was one of most intelligent people I have ever met in my life. He accepted me fully, understood me when others didn't, and always had a kind word for me.
I will miss him terribly.
My hope is that wherever he is, he has found the satisfaction he never could find here on earth.
Rest in peace, my dear friend.
OB
