Missing Ron, missing Randi

On New Year's Eve, I learned that a friend of mine in San Francisco had taken his life in late November. I had not known he was depressed, and if I had been asked whom I knew who might be at risk of suicide, his name would have been near the bottom of my list. During all the years we were friends, he was always one of the most positive and upbeat people I knew. His energy was a joy to be around.

SEVEN YEARS AGO on New Year's Day, I came home and heard a voicemail that turned my blood cold. I returned Greg's call and was heartbroken to find that one of my best friends from Stanford--and my first roommate after my graduation--had taken her life the day after Christmas.

Like Ron, Randi had a beautiful soul. She had once confided in me that she had considered suicide in high school. But at one of her lowest points, she took a hot, steamy shower and realized that if something so simple could feel so good that life was well worth living. I knew Randi longer and better than I knew Ron; I knew that she experienced occasional anxiety and sadness though more often than not she was smiling or laughing. But again, I was shocked by her suicide.

Randi loved life. We struggled through our first year Spanish courses together, but when she discovered sign language, she found her passion. She became a sign language interpreter and married a deaf man. They had two daughters together.

To this day she remains one of the best friends I've ever had. She was always there for me when I needed her, and I couldn't count how many hours we spent walking The Dish in the foothills behind Stanford. We were there together as we began to figure out our young adult lives.

I miss her dearly.