The last time he had been to my place he had gotten incredibly drunk, pissed off my roommate, and then thrown up on the bed in the guest room. It was the roommate's mattress, sheets, and pillows, so he wasn't too happy. I was going to bed, but I asked drunky if he was alright. He said he needed a blanket, so I gave him one of mine and then went to bed. The next morning he left early, before we got up.
We kept in touch on the phone, but he never came back by. He said one time that he didn't feel welcome anywhere, that he had pissed off all of his friends. I told him "no, don't worry about it. We've all been there before. Roommate was pissed off that night but he's not even mad at you...just don't do it again, ha! I'll give you my sheets next time you come up, why don't you come by this weekend?"
He says "yeah, I know you don't mind. You gave me a blanket last time. A lot of that night was a blur, but I remember being cold, and you gave me a blanket. Thanks."
That was on a Wednesday. I told him again he should come visit that weekend, but we didn't make concrete plans. Then I got busy with work, and taking the girlfriend out, and some other insignificant things...I never called back. That Saturday morning I got the call that they had found him. He was gone.
You see, I knew my friend suffered from depression. He had had some bad times before, and even a couple half-hearted suicide attempts. Should I have taken his concerns more seriously? Would it have been different if we had made definite plans? I'll never know the answers to those questions, but I don't think I'll ever stop asking myself. I miss him terribly, all the time. It's been several years now, and earlier today I heard a song at work that reminded me of some stupid, silly inside joke we had, and I nearly broke into tears.
So yes, I miss him, and absolutely no one was euphoric to learn of his death. And yes I remember, all the time. And yes I still care, deeply. I only wish I had let him know that when I had the chance. At least I gave him a blanket.