Twenty-five years ago today, someone I knew from high school committed suicide. She was a casual friend, though I saw her a lot, but some people I love were close to her, and so it had a big effect on my little circle of friends. There was a lot of guilt over the years, and some questions, and always the what-ifs: what if she hadn't been far away from people who could have helped her, what if someone had realized (there were a few hints, in hindsight). It all refused to seem inevitable, because there were many things that could have saved her or made her life worth living: she was beautiful, for starters, and very bright, creative and fun. And the early twenties can be a hard time for many people, though of course in hindsight (always in hindsight), one wonders about mood disorders: depression, perhaps, or bipolar, but what did we know back then, any of us?

I read an article a few months ago (Times magazine? Think so) about suicide, that often, simply surviving those impulsive five minutes can mean going on to live a much longer life. And I've often thought that, had she survived those five or ten minutes, made a phone call, sobered up, she would be here now, having survived those difficult first few years of adulthood with some good stories, like most of the rest of us alive, perhaps not quite so beautiful anymore (though who knows, she was so tall and lean), but doubtless interesting, doubtless capable and perhaps sure of it by now.

Rest in peace, Lauri. You were unforgettable.