An iPEC (Institute for Professional Excellence in Coaching) classmate of mine, Paul leaver, shared with me an expression of grief for a classmate of his that suicided. I felt it was raw, a true expression of his feelings and personal. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind sharing and here it is:
“I knew a guy in high school many of us thought had it all. He came from a good family. He was from Dallas, a joyfully proud Texan. Nice guy. Very handsome. Dressed understated cool. His girlfriend was considered a goddess by many of the unperfect. He spoke to me one day. And it was fun. He had seen me do something funny, and wanted to see if I could be that funny on command. I was genuine at least, so he approved of me, which gave me access to an entire echelon of upper level coolness. I joked with the girls and the boys chuckled too. Anyway, this one guy, we’ll call him Morgan Bartley, smiled at me and nodded from time to time. He knew I secretly loved his girlfriend, which I guess amused him. They were Seniors. I was a Sophomore. He left school two years before me… with his girlfriend. I always wondered what became of Morgan and Zia. They drifted around my memories like two glowing high school heroes. You know the kind I mean. Then, with the advent of Facebook, I reconnected with both of them, more than 25 years after we’d been in school together. We started recommending music to each other. We had likes in common. Morgan, it appeared, had spent the intervening years living a raucous life of a well loved, golden, local-hero member of a Texas clan of well liked dudes. Backstage with The Cure. An unending succession of astonishing lady friends. Love, laughter, barbecues, rock concerts and football games. That was Morgan. Until he committed suicide. The news came within the week that it happened. A whole bunch of us got back in touch, reminiscing about Morgan, and our time together as kids. But nobody ever spoke of how or why he ended his own life. I was stunned. Still am sort of. Enough to write this. I wrote to his father, an appreciation of Morgan, which he appreciated. I reconnected with Zia, which has been amusing. Since Morgan died, I have become a Certified Professional Coach. Applying some of what I have learned in my studies and throughout my own life experience, I can’t help but wonder if I could have helped him. Or help him to find the help he needed. If I could, I’d have slowed him way down, gotten him off whatever drugs he may have been on. Cocaine was always near him. And fast cars. I might have directed him to examine every moment for it’s intrinsic wonder, mystery and beauty. So many unknown things, labeled with limiting and tired words. A spectacle of freaky miracles. I might have tried to get him to remember these truths that live within each of us. To savor the delicacies of life, including the pain. Isn’t it just another color on the canvas of our story? Marvel at how much something can truly suck, I might have said. I never got the chance. Likely, Morgan got spun up into some bad actions and bad self-messaging. Once, I told him about his legend status during our school years.He wrote back only: “It doesn’t last.” If I’d have followed-up right there, in that instant, maybe he’d have found his soul root again. Oh well. Rest in peace, Morgan.
If we listen to each other closely, maybe the rest of us can catch the calls. Keep asking questions.”
CPC (Certified Professional Coach)
“if nothing changes, nothing changes”
—The Lies About Truth