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Just as I was getting ready to go out this evening, I received a phone call. On the other end was an old friend I haven't seen in far too long: Catherine, a housemate of mine during my undergraduate degree. She rang to tell me that a mutual friend from the Christian Union, way back in my first year, had taken her own life at some point in the last week.
The grapevine from me to the source of the news is long, so I don't know a lot about the circumstances of her death, and that's maybe for the best. All I know is that for years she suffered episodes of mania, and ended her self while on retreat somewhere in the UK.
She was, I think, looking back, my first crush at the University (unrequited), separated from my old life and its inadequacies, when everything was shiny and new and full of potential. She was a musical dreamer, with a guitar by her side wherever she went. Very quiet, except when she laughed. I never even knew her last name: never needed to.
Her first name, at least, I know, and it's a safe assumption that no-one from that group of friends still reads this site, not least since I've not seen any of them in years (bar one, who I've already emailed). Her name was Melanie, Mel to all who knew her.
The others who knew her, I suspect, will take comfort in their faith, knowing that she went to a better place, free of troubles. I, however, haven't been a Christian for some years, if I ever truly was. As a Humanist, I believe that life is sacred, that all people have worth, and that people must help their friends and those who cross their paths if they can, but that there is no afterlife. The others are saddened, but also happy for her, I think, because of that faith. I just feel like I failed her.
Rest in peace, Mel. The world seems a little colder, knowing that you're no longer in it.