Letter to Corbin

I regret that I will never be able to talk to you about T.V. shows anymore. I never told you, but I would silently refer to you as my own personal T.V. Guide. You knew when was on, if it would be worth watching, and could even schedule for me an entire evening’s worth of programming. I trusted my viewing pleasure to you implicitly. I regret that I will never have to feel shameful about watching guilty pleasure shows anymore, because you won’t be there to roll your eyes at me and remind me that there are so many better series I could be watching instead.

I regret that we didn’t spend more time together one-on-one. One of my most cherished memories of adulthood was us going to TJ’s Burgers in New Braunfels, eating lunch, then driving over an hour round-trip to and from my house to get tubes so we could then go float the Comal River. It was an unnecessary trip in the car, but our conversations and time spent catching up after years apart was just what I needed.

I regret that we will never again get to re-enact J.D.-and-Turk EEEAAGLE moments in crowded places. I will never forget the awkward, uncomfortable look on the faces of those two women who were trying to eat a nice, quiet meal outside in downtown Philly as you ran up and I lifted you above my head as if we were some figure-skating duet. Jess, Russell, and Mary-Ellen laughed so hard, and so did we.

I regret that your time living with Jess, James, and me was so short, and that there were so many tense moments as we tried to figure out how a single guy was supposed to share space with a family of three. All of us got annoyed and frustrated at different times, but it truly was a blessing having you play such a pivotal role in our lives, especially in James’ early life.

I regret that James, who loved his Uncle Corbin and had so much fun with you, has probably already forgotten you entirely. He will not have the chance to get to know you as a little boy, as a growing adolescent, and as a young man. You had such a strong influence in such an important developmental stage, but now you are gone from his life. I regret that this is true not only for my son, but for your true niece and nephew as well. They will never know their Uncle Corbin, and that is so, so sad, for you were absolutely worth knowing.

I regret that every time our group of friends gathers together, there will be a noticeable and impossible-to-ignore gap. You were a major part of our lives. Even though you chose to hold a supporting character role in most of our group functions, you were always there, and we will not be the same group without you.

I regret that, over a month removed from you taking your own life, I still feel guilt and shame. I regret that I didn’t do more to tell you that you were loved and needed. I regret that—as a trained pastoral counselor—I didn’t see any signs that you were this far gone. I regret that I didn’t do anything or say anything that could have stopped you from killing yourself. Even though I know this was no way my fault, I still feel that shame. I still find myself asking, “What should I have done?” I still wonder how it might have been different.

I regret that I am still so mad at you for doing this. Even in the midst of the shame and guilt, I also cannot help but still be angry. What you did was selfish. What you did feels cowardly. What you did shows a lack of hope that I do not want to believe you experienced. And what makes this so hard is that you were none of these things. You were one of the most selfless people I knew, and I don’t know of a single person who could honestly say you were at all cowardly. And to believe that you had lost all hope—in God, in your loved ones, and in yourself—is heartbreaking in and of itself.

I regret that so many of our friends are feeling this shame, guilt, and anger as well. I have read enough about survivor's guilt to know that it hits harder for those who encounter suicide than maybe any other type of death. There will always be the question of "What if?" that plays through our minds, and even though we will strive to remember you lovingly, the feeling of abandonment will be present with us forever. 

I regret that you felt like you couldn't seek help when any of us would have done anything for you. If you could only have known how loved you were, you might have realized that there was still hope, that there was still a reason to go on. If you could only have known how much we cared, maybe you would have said something to someone—anyone!—and maybe you would have received that help that you so obviously needed. You might have felt like it, but I can guarantee you that were not alone. We would have dropped anything to be there for you, and we would have done anything to help you find healing. 

I am thankful for the time we had together. I am thankful that you loved my son and treated him like family. I am thankful that for a few years at least, I had the blessing of calling you friend. I will miss you dearly, Corbin, as will Jess, Ryan, Russell, and the rest of our giant group of friends from TLU. I look forward to the day that I get to see you again, clothed in the glory of God and completely restored to wholeness. I sincerely hope that you have found in death the peace that you were missing in life, and I pray that God will reveal to you the impact you had on so many lives, mine included, in the short time you were with us.

I love you, my friend.

-w