I learned Sunday that my friend Tom Harverson killed himself, I still haven’t cried and I’m wondering if that’s unusual? I don’t know what to feel or say but something tells me that I should be crying. I only knew him for two years but we shared memories that could have filled decades.
The worst part about suicide is that you can never understand the reasons in which they committed the act. With Tom, he was the last person you could imagined doing it. He was always friendly, never seemed depressed or upset and always had advice for anyone who needed it. For the last three days I’ve been wondering why, why did Tom do this? He was an extremely talented illustrator, graphic designer, and one of the nicest people I have ever met. I thought about the pain he must have felt in order to take his own life. It must have been great enough to not want to live or share his wonderful and unique art with others. That saddened me quite a bit to think that there is such a horrible emotion people like Tom have felt. If he had encounter that then I’m glad at least for him that it’s over.
One of the greatest moments that I shared with Tom was when we both got our tattoos together. It was one of those spontaneous moments that you never planned on doing but in light of certain events I know that it was meant to happen.
We were on our senior trip in San Diego and after we passed the first tattoo shop on the street Tom had decided that we were going to get something we would remember for the rest of our lives. He had always carried two Tibetan words with him in his journal wherever he went. Eventually Tom got those tattooed on both collarbones. I on the other hand had no idea what to get. Tom suggested my Hebrew name and I thought that that would be a nice, unique idea. I knew how to spell it, but I didn’t know how to draw it, it had been a while since I was in temple. After the tattoo artist brought out a book on the Hebrew language it was decided. I went first and Tom watched telling me that years from now we will look at our tattoos and remember how it didn’t hurt. Well it did hurt but I can see now what he meant by that. That was only 6 months ago.
I felt special that he wanted to get that tattoo with me. On that day we became brothers like the way best friends become blood brothers when they’re younger by sharing each others blood. Now my tattoo means even more to me. It reads “Elyahu” on the lower back of my neck. I feel connect to him like a part of him lives with me through that tattoo. Now every time I look at it or someone mentions it I will think of Tom and how we thought we would have these tattoos forever.
The numbness is starting to wear off now. I’m trying to interpret my emotions. I see him now the way I think Tom would want me to remember him. His left arm up in the sky, his finger pointing to the tops of the tall pine tress as if he knew that’s where he planned on going. And in his eyes is not one thought or look of sadness but almost determination. I can look at the photo oh him from his senior page and understand sorrow for he had more potential, talent, and determination than most artists my age, yet I cannot understand why that meant nothing to him.
The grieving process has just started for me. I couldn’t believe Tom’s death at first, thought it might have been a misunderstanding or some type of cruel joke, but it’s sinking in and making it more difficult each day not having any closer with him. I guess for now I’ll take his advice like when we were getting our tattoos. I’ll be able to look back years from now, see him as the beautiful person that he was and remember that it didn’t hurt. Goodbye Tom.