5 years ago to the day I lost one of my best friends to a drowning accident while we were on a float trip. We were just 24 and 25yo. From that day I realized that no one is untouchable by tragedy. I already knew that but didn’t live it. Now as a friend group all of us are much more vocal about our feelings and our expressions of love to each other. It was a long car ride home that night. 2-3 hours of silence from 1:00-3:00am just letting it sink in that we watched our friend die. I personally performed CPR on him and took lead in his rescue attempt. As a medical professional, I learned more from that single experience than anything in school which is my silver lining.

I had a good friend who I met as a co worker. We were both in the healthcare field and eventually both of us left the original company and moved onto different companies. We were both history buffs. We had lots of discussions over the years about history, politics, and of course the gossip in our industry. He was always an ideolog about politics. I only cared about policies. Did they work or not. I never cared about a specific candidate or party. He was such a nice person that I would kid him about being so serious about political stuff.

Neither of us were religious and due to the field we were in, we both agreed that consciousness, what makes you - you - is in your brain. You die, your brain dies, and that is the end of you.

Our discussions averaged once a week and always via email. Then there came a time when I hadn’t heard from him for a few weeks. Several of my emails went unanswered. He eventually got back to me and retold what had happened over the previous weeks. He had stomach issues. He didn’t think it was serious but regardless of the drugs he was prescribed he didn’t get any better. Went to several doctors and eventually was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

Since we were both in the healthcare industry we knew this was a death sentence. Many who are faced with this diagnosis grasp at treatments or even religion to save them or at least extend their lives beyond the usual 6 months to a year death sentence.

My friend died 10 months after he received his diagnosis. We continued to communicate during those 10 months, but there was no more discussion about politics or world events. He had reached the point where all of that stuff was now irrelevant. We are all going to die yet we get so caught up in bullshit that in the end means nothing.

Since his death I think of him often. Out driving someone cuts me off, I am faced with a new policy at work, or I wanted to go to the beach and it rains all day. The things that would anger me or frustrate me are now put in a better perspective. None of it means much in the big picture. I am going to die and how about just enjoying myself without getting pissed off at normal nonsense that we all deal with that we have no control over.

I mean, technically I died and it changed my view of life.

Imagine waking up in a hospital and being told “So, yeah, your heart stopped.”

I have an implant now that reports back any problems. Not a pacemaker, just a monitor.

Following that, nothing seems super important anymore. “Oh yeah, x is bad, but compared to having my heart stop? Eh, whatever.”

A childhood friend was killed by an IED. He was just the driver for some officer. My delusions about military and war died with him.

Not a good friend, just a colleague. Wasn’t particularly close to him but he was hilarious to hang out with. He would disappear from time to time and I found out it was because his lesions were visible; he was dying from AIDS.

I was homophobic because I didn’t know anyone in my life that was gay. After David passed, I paid more attention as several friends came out.

I don’t wave any flags or march in any parades but I will defend any LBTQ from persecution or prejudice when necessary.

A bit over 5 years ago I was not in a good place myself. Struggling to be motivated for anything, only seeing trouble in the future, and often I just randomly started crying and was just out of it for a few hours. Things got pretty dark, and thus I sought and found help with a psychologist. I also discussed all of these things with my friends. Slowly my outlook started to change, and a few months later I started seeing some light again. I was barely on my feet again, feeling rebuilt and filled with a new spirit of hope.

At this moment a couple of other friends were also dealing with their demons, but most of them discussed these and we generally managed to help each other. One of them did not. Instead he chose to end it all. The situation hit us like a truck. While I cannot possibly compare our situations, nor do I know what exactly went through his mind, it always felt like a mirror. A parallel path that I could’ve chosen. The scars of this never went away, the damage it did to all of us will remain forever. I don’t blame him for anything, nor do I think it was the “weak” option. But I’m just sad, because I feel like it shouldn’t have happened. A culture where men (or people in general I guess) feel ashamed to share their struggles, where they feel like they have to lie to maintain their “pride”, creates an environment where people corner themselves in lies and darkness until there is no way out.

What I personally learned from this whole ordeal is how much damage something like this does. Not only did we lose someone bright, it also permanently damaged many people who loved him. It might not feel like people around you care, but for pretty much everyone there are people in your life who do care. I’ve also seen how I personally can pull out of a very dark place and suddenly feel happiness with the most mundane things again. And seeing these 2 paths, I will always remember that no matter how shit the current situation is, as long as there’s any hope that in the future things may be better, then that’s a hope worth fighting for. In almost every situation there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, you may not see it and it may be far away, but once you reach it you can have many years of happy life ahead of you.

I’ve lost three close friends due to suicide. Two of them had been my best friend, but for various reasons, I was a bit more distanced from for a few months to a year. That hit hard.

The other friend was current my best friend, my partner’s best friend, and most of our friends’ best friend. Her pretty-much-partner found her. That was devastating to myself and everyone around me.

I don’t know if I’d say they changed my view on life. I feel pretty much the same about life, but now I appreciate all of the time I spend with my loved ones more.

Happened 4 months ago. I am totally non religious, but sometimes when i do morally questionable things i wonder what they would think of me if they could watch me. Without going into too much detail, the whole ordeal also painfully reminded me that all the surveillance power available to police will never be used to actually solve real cases.

My literal best friend who brought me to religion died less than a year after I met him. I was 12, and I basically said, “Well god, I guess you didn’t want me that much, or if this was a test, I failed.”

I lost a good friend to cancer. He was my sister’s long time boyfriend and tge father of her child. We had done martial arts together for years before his diagnosis.

One of our martial arts instructors was later diagnosed with leukaemia, and died a year later.

When I was 19, I had a 5 year old cousin get diagnosed with leukaemia. I remember the night he died. I went to get his younger brother and sister to keep them at my apartment for the night so they didn’t have to see him die. When I got there, his mom was crying and holding him in jer arms. My uncle sat next to her stoic with his arm around her. His tiny body was swollen from his kidneys failing and both of his eyes had deep black bruises around them. His breathing was so ragged and labored. I hugged him and his mom, and let my younger cousins to my car. My mom came over later that night to deliver the news. She held his sister, I hled his brother, and we all sat and cried.

I bought a chinchilla in 2007 with my first wife. She lost interest in him after 6 months or so, but he was my little buddy. He saw me through that divorce, several moves, getting my geology degree, meeting my current wife, and having my son. He was 9 years old when my son was born. We were a tiny, happy family until I noticed that he was starting to lose weight and there wasn’t as much pee in the corner of his cage. We took him to the vet to confirm my suspicion - his kidneys were failing. Over the next few months he went from a healthy 600g down to just 200g. He was so wobbly and missing easy jumps in his cage that we had to restrict him to a single level. My little fuzzy buddy lived 15 years. I took a few days off work and had him cremated. He now has a little table of honor with the remains of my 2nd chinchilla.

No.

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