Here's a story about an old friend of mine named Glenn. He was soft-spoken, friendly, and liked by pretty much everyone. He was a graduating senior when I was just a sophomore in high school. I would always sit behind him during pre-calculus and we would take turns copying each other's homework. (I'm sure I've painted a good picture of myself during my high school years). On Friday, January 26, 2001, Glenn saw me jogging home after soccer practice and offered to give me a ride. I asked him what his plans were after graduating and he told me that he had plans to enlist in the Army. It was a 10 minute drive, but that's all I remember talking about.
Two days later, my mom was giving me a haircut and asked me if I heard about some kid that committed suicided. She thought he went to my school. The kid's mom found him dead in his bedroom. I told her I didn't hear anything about it, and that was that.
I was chatting with a friend of mine online later that day, and apparently, word got around about this guy from our high school hanging himself. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.
I asked her, "do you know his name?"
She says, "Glenn, I think. Glenn Brazzel? I don't know how to pronounce his last name."
"wait...not Glenn Gr***** is it? because I know him..."
"yeah, that's him. I'm sorry."
"no, that can't be right. he wouldn't do that. no, you better be wrong. he better be in class monday copying my homework."
"i'm sorry...i'm pretty sure it's him but i could be wrong."
My heart sunk, I started to sweat, and teared up all at once. I hopped in the shower so I could clear my mind, but all I could do was cry. I wasn't sobbing, because I was still confused. I still didn't believe what I was told.
I hopped out of the shower and got dressed. Then I just lay in my room with the lights off for about an hour. I hear the door open and my mom comes in my room. She sees my face and asks me if I had been crying. "No, I took a shower and the gel from my hair got into my eyes." (yes, that is word for word). As she walks out of my room, I ask her if the guy's name was Glenn. "Yeah, that's him!" And I reply, "That's what I heard..." Then I sobbed.
The next day at school, nobody wanted to do anything. My marine biology professor, in particular, couldn't even hold it together. I remember her saying through free-flowing tears that, as his teacher, she should have sensed that there was something wrong and that maybe she could have helped him or gotten him help. She felt somewhat responsible for what happened. We didn't do anything in class that day. I think most of us in class had been crying all night. As a matter of fact, most of the school had been crying.
Everyone someway or another felt responsible for his death. Why didn't we know? Why didn't we see the signs? I don't know to this day. I found out that he died the morning after he had given me a ride home. Even at that moment, I had no clue there was anything unusual. It's been almost 10 years since that happened, and I still can't believe I didn't see any signs. He looked fine. He looked happy. He had plans for the future...
I know that this hasn't been the most uplifting blog. But this was an event that I think about more frequently than I should. I know that his death was no one's fault, but sometimes one can't help but feel a bit responsible.
For those of you that wonder what my definition of a bad day is...this was a bad day. Actually, it was a bad week.
I think about this all the time too. He lived at the end of my street so I found out about an hour after his mom found him. Alisha's little brother came down the street on his scooter and told me. I thought he was kidding - but there were several cop cars at his house.
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It hit the neighborhood kids so hard. Glenn was a great basketball player, though he never played for the school. He spent a lot of time teaching the younger kids how to play, including my little sister.
This is one of those things that changes you as a person even though you never fully understand it. I STILL think about him and miss him.