winterbadger | depressing, but I don't know what to say

If you read

redactrice's journal, you'll see something there about this too, probably more thoughtful and coherent than what I can come up with.

A freind of ours killed himself on the 4th of July. He was a East Baltimore native, former Ranger, Gulf War vet, moonshiner, reenactor, Harley-riding redneck, mischievous litte troll of a man. He was streetwise and tough, but he could also be gentle and considerate. He was fascinated by things Japanese, especially yakuza (the Japanese Mafia) and their customs. I don't know if he ever got it finished, but he was having a huge rendition of a Jpanese woodblock print tattooed acros his back, a roiling sea with a hero fighting a giantic fish. He was one of the best examples of the amazing variety of people who get drawn into living history, people many (most?) of whom I would probably never meet any other way.

(It's an amazing hobby that way: I've met school teachers and bricklayers, army officers and college students and washing machine repairmen and policemen and librarians and corporate contract managers. I've taken orders from World War II vets and gone through mock battles with guys who a few weeks before were fighting real battles with Iraqi insurgents. Sadly, this isn't the first time someone I've met this way has chosen to kill himself; one of our unit members shot himself a few years ago, and one or two others in the time before I joined the group in the early 1990s.)

I wish Roy had stayed in touch with all of us, and that we had done more to stay in touch with him. I am so sad that he is gone, and I'm frustrated that I don't know why or if there's anything I or any of us could have done to help.

Rest well, Roy. I hope whatever tormented you is quiet now, and you're sitting somewhere with your feet up, your beard bristling, your blue eyes shining, a beer in your hand and a ripe joke on your lips. G*d bless you.