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Ben Bandas: April 12, 1986 - July 20, 2006
I lost a friend to suicide when I was 23.
We met back when I was dating his cousin -- I think even before she and I admitted we were dating. As with her, I met him at an Anime Convention. He was a tall, lively sort of guy who seemed to have a way of meeting and interacting with people that I wish I had. He was also sad and lonely, and I think that's most of why he went to Conventions. The atmosphere in that sort of place is charged with a certain energy, and not only can you walk around with a sign that says 'hug-me' and actually get hugs, but many people do just that.
I didn't see a lot of him when we first met. I was still into Anime myself at the time and occupied with his cousin. I'm not sure how it happened, but some in our group bet him money that he couldn't make it through the convention by saying nothing other than 'skullfuck' pokemon-style. Armed with a roll of duct tape and a pen he did just that, and managed to somehow woo a young lady in the process. I don't think he ever got all the money he was promised, but it was an amusing testament to the sort of guy he was all the same -- goofy, charismatic, a little bit vulgar.
I ran into him a while later at another Anime Con, closer to when I got out of the scene altogether. The animation was losing it's novelty, the girls were all too young, and if I wanted to see my friends we could just spend $30 a piece and have a barbecue or dinner instead. But it was good to see him. He was only there for a few minutes before he left, just enough time to introduce me to Jenny, who's always been younger than I thought she was and at the time that was dangerous. Jenny and I have grown to be good friends, and I would never have known her without Ben.
We hadn't talked for a while, Ben and I, because life does that. I had graduation and my Master's Program and most recently an Internship. I called Ben on New Year's and his birthday, I think. I found him on MySpace and Facebook and OKCupid. He seemed happy, he had a computer business of sorts going on. He'd gown a bit, matured some, developed a goatee which really worked well for him, I think.
I know he'd had troubles at home. I think his parents were divorced, and there's the standard longing a young man goes through with dating and girls and everything. And Ben had always been looking for something to fill some space inside of him. He met a lot of people and made friends with them -- like I said, he had a way about him that I admired. I guess there was just too much missing, though. Too much he couldn't handle.
He left without saying goodbye.
I heard through MySpace. Someone posted in his blog that he'd killed himself and, later, that the funeral would be Sunday. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. But there were too many people involved, and it went on too long. I tried calling his cousin to see if she knew anything but couldn't get through. I finally called his cellphone. I didn't want to. Ben didn't answer. I got the address for the funeral.
It filled me with a pain I've only felt two other times in my life. A searing bone-deep pain of loss that I can't even express in words. I liked Ben; really admired him. No, he wasn't a constant fixture in my life but I was always glad to see him and hear from him, and I would have jumped at an opportunity to get together with him.
And this is to all of you: I will never be able to tell you how much I love you and admire you and how dear you are to me. Part of it is a lack of time, part of it a lack of words, and part of it is a little bit of fear on my part. Fear of admitting such investment in another person, and fear of admitting more than you want to hear. But the fact remains that I do love you and admire you and hold you dear. Even if we haven't talked in a long while, even if we never see each other, even if we've had a fight or you've hurt me, I don't know anyone that I wouldn't be glad to hear from. There's no one I can think of I wouldn't be happy to see. You mean more to people than you can ever know, and you affect people more than you will ever know.
I'm going to miss you, Ben.
We met back when I was dating his cousin -- I think even before she and I admitted we were dating. As with her, I met him at an Anime Convention. He was a tall, lively sort of guy who seemed to have a way of meeting and interacting with people that I wish I had. He was also sad and lonely, and I think that's most of why he went to Conventions. The atmosphere in that sort of place is charged with a certain energy, and not only can you walk around with a sign that says 'hug-me' and actually get hugs, but many people do just that.
I didn't see a lot of him when we first met. I was still into Anime myself at the time and occupied with his cousin. I'm not sure how it happened, but some in our group bet him money that he couldn't make it through the convention by saying nothing other than 'skullfuck' pokemon-style. Armed with a roll of duct tape and a pen he did just that, and managed to somehow woo a young lady in the process. I don't think he ever got all the money he was promised, but it was an amusing testament to the sort of guy he was all the same -- goofy, charismatic, a little bit vulgar.
I ran into him a while later at another Anime Con, closer to when I got out of the scene altogether. The animation was losing it's novelty, the girls were all too young, and if I wanted to see my friends we could just spend $30 a piece and have a barbecue or dinner instead. But it was good to see him. He was only there for a few minutes before he left, just enough time to introduce me to Jenny, who's always been younger than I thought she was and at the time that was dangerous. Jenny and I have grown to be good friends, and I would never have known her without Ben.
We hadn't talked for a while, Ben and I, because life does that. I had graduation and my Master's Program and most recently an Internship. I called Ben on New Year's and his birthday, I think. I found him on MySpace and Facebook and OKCupid. He seemed happy, he had a computer business of sorts going on. He'd gown a bit, matured some, developed a goatee which really worked well for him, I think.
I know he'd had troubles at home. I think his parents were divorced, and there's the standard longing a young man goes through with dating and girls and everything. And Ben had always been looking for something to fill some space inside of him. He met a lot of people and made friends with them -- like I said, he had a way about him that I admired. I guess there was just too much missing, though. Too much he couldn't handle.
He left without saying goodbye.
I heard through MySpace. Someone posted in his blog that he'd killed himself and, later, that the funeral would be Sunday. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. But there were too many people involved, and it went on too long. I tried calling his cousin to see if she knew anything but couldn't get through. I finally called his cellphone. I didn't want to. Ben didn't answer. I got the address for the funeral.
It filled me with a pain I've only felt two other times in my life. A searing bone-deep pain of loss that I can't even express in words. I liked Ben; really admired him. No, he wasn't a constant fixture in my life but I was always glad to see him and hear from him, and I would have jumped at an opportunity to get together with him.
And this is to all of you: I will never be able to tell you how much I love you and admire you and how dear you are to me. Part of it is a lack of time, part of it a lack of words, and part of it is a little bit of fear on my part. Fear of admitting such investment in another person, and fear of admitting more than you want to hear. But the fact remains that I do love you and admire you and hold you dear. Even if we haven't talked in a long while, even if we never see each other, even if we've had a fight or you've hurt me, I don't know anyone that I wouldn't be glad to hear from. There's no one I can think of I wouldn't be happy to see. You mean more to people than you can ever know, and you affect people more than you will ever know.
I'm going to miss you, Ben.