This morning I received a message telling me that a person I worked with a long time ago had taken his own life. I had not seen this person in many years but I actually thought about him quite often. JW was one of the most unique people I had ever met. He was at least as tall as me and skinny as a rail. He had some of the biggest and wildest hair I have ever seen. And an unforgettable face. A movie star face…a face that always looked handsome in photos. Like Adrian Brody, or Daniel Day-Lewis. A face that would have looked perfect on the back cover of a best selling novel. A face that would have made sense in a visual dictionary next to the word “poet”.

JW was outwardly sarcastic and funny and sometimes a little mean in a harmless big-brotherly way. But, he was also tender and sensitive and deeply caring. I always liked him and I always enjoyed his company when we worked together. I remember that he liked bicycles and umbrellas and had a tattoo of at least one of those. He liked Edward Hopper paintings, especially the ones depicting night windows from outside.

Rabelais and Don Quixote

A few days ago, I unknowingly read his last instagram post…the one he wrote on the day he died. He talked about how many times he had tried and failed to get through reading Rabelais. I was surprised because, other than myself, he is the only person in my whole life that I had ever heard mention that book.

We already had some kind of literary thread between us. I knew that Don Quixote was his favourite book and I loved it too. I had read that book in my 20s, the same age JW was when we worked together. And, in this case too, he was the only other person I knew who had read it.

When I think about JW and Don Quixote now, it makes so much sense. He was an idealist. I think he always had poetic and romantic notions of how the world should be. I think he believed that people were capable of kindness, of courtesy to strangers, of chivalrous acts. That they should strive towards that ideal and had a responsibility to do so. JW was quixotic, through and through.

I bring up his last instagram post about Rabelais for this reason: I think I saw it very early in the morning, right when I woke up. I remember smiling to myself and thinking “Only you JW…would try so many times to read and understand that impossible book”. I wanted to write to him in the comments about how I had also struggled so many times to read it and always met with failure. I think he would have laughed. Instead…I slid out of bed and started my day. I thought that I would get back to it later but..I didn’t.

If I had left him that comment, would it have made any difference? Probably not…but possibly. It may have given him the idea that some distant friend still thought about him. He may have been surprised and smiled at that. It may have gotten him through that one day. And in that one day…something else might have happened to get him through the next day…and so on. Who can say? All I know for sure is that my words had zero impact because I didn’t say them. Maybe it was already too late.

Thank you JW. I feel fortunate to have known you while I did. I was happy to work with you at such a special place and time. When I first read your Rabelais post..i paused for some reason..and I felt…something…maybe it was already your absence. Knowing what I know now, I feel your absence all the more. Even though we had not talked in a long time, I thought about you often.. especially when I was out walking at night peering into the lit windows of houses I passed by. I promise I will keep doing so. I wish I had told you these things when you were around to hear them.

This is yet another reminder for me that tomorrow is not promised. If you are thinking about someone, tell them. If you care about someone, let them know. If you are worried about someone, get in touch. No harm can come of this…it costs you nothing. But it may make all the difference to someone else…maybe just for one hour or one day…but maybe for a lifetime. Don’t wait too long.

February 17th, 2026

Today was JWs funeral. I won’t say much about the service itself. It was sad..and more difficult than I thought it would be. Not so much at the service itself where I was surrounded by other people.. but more so when I was walking home alone through the city, and later that night as I lay in bed reflecting on what I had seen, unwilling to close my eyes.

It took around two and a half hours to walk home from the cemetery. The route was familiar but the weather was strange. The entire city was obscured by a weird yellowish fog, the air was thick with humidity and the sun was a weak halo of light buried in layers of cloud. I have never really seen that kind of weather here before. I thought that JW would be happy to know that on the day of his funeral, the weather was so gloomy and dramatic. I think he would like that.