At the memorial service (which was packed, he was well-known and liked), I talked to his poor father, telling him about how I had met him, and how he was so warm and genuine. He smiled, smiling so big without daring to stop, because if he stopped smiling he wouldn't be able to stop crying, and thanked me for telling him this story. It meant so much to him to hear these things from others. I thought, "I was just going to tell him that one story, but I can't leave now, until someone else comes to tell him their story," in a kind of panicked way, because I really didn't know him that well. So I racked my brain and told him every interaction I could think of, keeping him entertained, until I found someone else to introduce him to, to keep him occupied with stories.

I know he must have been very sick to kill himself, but seeing his dad's face showed me very clearly the true consequences of suicide. He was in hell, and now his poor parents are.

Things for me are alright, luckily. Classes, data analysis, simple stuff.