When I awoke at 3:30 AM this morning, it was early to get myself ready for a 10+ hour drive to see family in Kansas this weekend. It would be a well-desired getaway from a few exceptionally heavy work weeks, I thought. The drive time out would be time to think a little, to breathe.

It was around noon, though- 6 hours into the journey- that I picked up a decent wifi signal, and the text from a friend in the dance community found me. “I just saw an email from Susan that said Robert had passed away. Do you know what happened?”

I then went to the inbox on my phone and received the aforementioned message.

Robert had passed away.

The direction of my thinking for the afternoon completely shifted.

—

I discovered country and swing dancing probably seven or so years ago, and when I did, and began learning about the local dance community in Albuquerque and dancers, I came to know Robert fairly quickly.

Robert, perhaps a decade my senior, was a graceful, gifted dancer with boundless energy and a perpetual smile. He was well liked in the local community because he was a good dancer and a gracious dancer- he was always willing to dance with anyone who asked him to. And behind his friendly personality was an innocent heart with lots of questions about life and love and hope. On the dance floor he was magnetic and playful, kinetic and confident, and celebrated for those qualities.

As I learned how to dance, I learned more about Robert and dancing, and in time, learned more about his life, and we became friends. Often following Albuquerque Dance Club Saturday dances, we would adjourn to a nearby Denny’s on San Antonio and I-25 and talk for an hour or two over pancakes or eggs. And in those talks, I came to also know a man who had some large struggles inside. An alcoholic in recovery, a child of dysfunctional relationships, a divorcee and at some point in his life, a serial dater, when I met Rob, he was just trying to find peace inside after the end of a big relationship. Robert had also had his physical setbacks. Prior to meeting my meeting him, he had already had a heart attack as a younger man- and when I knew him, he ended up having a massive heart attack one night while dancing at a favorite club in Houston- among many friends- when his pacemaker failed, which knocked him down physically for half a year, and then mentally and financially after that. It took him time, but his body seemed to return, and a little after it his mind, mostly. But his will seemed to never quite recover from that event, and he found himself in debt from excessive hospital bills he could not pay, unable to get technical work he had trained for in construction or in the oil industry because his health was bad.

And in it all, Robert was also unsure, because of all he felt was stacked against him, if he would ever find a good woman who would love him- which I think was a chief hunger within him.

When I met him, he had just gotten out of a bad relationship, though, and hearing about my spiritual life, he said he wanted to seek God. He put finding a girl aside, although the desire for a mate was always there. He just wanted some peace.

And then the heart attack occurred, he almost died but somehow survived it, and he slowly came back, and when he did, something from his heart was fairly broken.

In private, he spoke to me less about possibilities and more about pains and privations- health issues, financial devastation, job hunt frustrations, employment issues, and inner aches.

He mved away from town, and then returned, and then moved away again, and during this period of our relationship, things slipped quite a bit.

I drifted into my own season of inner turmoil, and our friendship waned.

He reached out a time or two in the last year, and we talked a bit, briefly, recapping our lives, and revisiting memories.

His hurt became more vocalized though, with questions and statements I did not handle well- questions about how God deals with suicide when the person is a Christian, statements about how he thought or felt in moments of deep depression when he was out alone with some dark thoughts.

I told him to get some professional help if he ever considered suicide. He told me he was never serious about it.

In a last conversation a few months, he had moved to Houston and had taken a job that was okay. He wondered if a girl he worked with might like him, if he should ask her out. He had started drinking again. A fair amount each night after work, “to help him sleep.”

I didn’t have the right responses to tell him to get help. I didn’t know how to help him get help. I didn’t know to help him at that point in time- and I didn’t really. I think I shared a few positive platitudes and then somehow hoped he’d find his way and be okay.

I failed him as friend and fellow human in deep pain.

Robert was clearly not okay and deeply depressed.

And a half a year later, today, I got that email.

—

Life is short, and I am sorry you were in such deep pain, Robert. You would call me “buddy” all the time, and always treat me like I was one of your best friends ever, despite the fact that at times, I disappeared on you, in times you probably needed to hear from me the most, me caught up in all of my super important issues.

It does little good now for you to hear it, Robert, but you were pretty deeply loved. Not merely because you were a stellar dancer, but because you were a classicly good guy, humble and kind to people around you, strangers and friends, and I feel really sad you didn’t get the help you needed to know that in spite of where you were in life, you were priceless, and loved. Help from enough others.

Help from me.

You will be missed.