In Memoriam

Content Warning: Descriptions of Drug Use & Suicide

I’m not writing about music in this one per se. I’m writing about the recent suicide of my good friend Nathan, who just so happened to be a preternaturally talented musician.

Nate (as he went by), was one of the most intelligent and talented people I have ever met. Firstly, he was a disturbingly good soccer player, to the point that younger soccer players knew his name as a sort of local lore. But our connection came into existence because of music.

To be fair, most of my close relationships with people have something to do with music. But Nate and I shared the experience of being drummers in our respective high school bands. (Spoiler alert: I was good and he was WAY better than me.)

Our bands played shows together for a few years. I was still learning, and quite the talent for someone who had only recently picked up the instrument. And then I’d watch Nate play. He did have some years on me, but he played like he had decades on me.

I would stand in awe as he performed complex instrumentation, composed by him, with extreme intensity and confidence.

In the following years he did the smart thing and went to school for music performance. Nailed that degree. Then he followed it up with a recording degree in one of the most prestigious recording programs in the country.

Like I said: He was good at what he did.

At Nathan’s funeral, my very well-spoken friend Shane reminded the attendees about something. After recounting all of Nate’s talents and successes, Shane said the words I’d been waiting for someone to say: “He was a great friend.”

Yes, he was a wild card. One of the wildest people I’ve known. He was also one of funnest (and funniest) people I’ve ever known. To keep it mild, in our 20s, we shared a fair amount of LSD trips together. Even more drunken nights. But throughout these experiences, probably amplified by our common bond as drummers, we became great friends.

Even after he moved across the country twice, we stayed in touch. We’d link each other instructional drum videos, stupid funny videos, Breaking Bad memes (a show we both deeply love), whatever. Or sometimes we’d just check up on each other.

When he was in town, we’d at least meet for drinks.

About Two years ago I was recovering from a painkiller addiction. After some hiccups, I’d successfully kicked the habit. Nate and I somehow ended up on the phone and he told me he was in therapy for depression. That didn’t surprise me though, he was always a complex, intense, introverted-extrovert. I was honestly surprised that he shared that with me, though, given his usual outward displays of confidence.

After that conversation, I felt better about my troubles, and I didn’t have any nagging worries about him. He spoke casually about it all, like it was just something he had to do. It made sense, too, given the amount of work he put into his job at a flourishing recording studio. Even as the call ended, the last thing I was worried about was that Nate may one day inflict self-harm.


Then two Fridays ago, I was told by another close mutual friend that Nathan hanged himself in his apartment in Fort Knox, Indiana. I was blindsided. Only days prior Nate had texted me a stupid Breaking Bad joke. His online behavior was par for the course. We joked on twitter and texted occasionally. Recent in-person and phone conversations indicated that nothing was wrong.

His funeral was pretty great as far as funerals go. Many people highlighted his innate ability to learn a skill. Many others, such as my friend Shane, reminded everyone that aside from his talents, he was always concerned how his friends were doing. It may seem like someone so involved in his own endeavors would be self-involved overall, but that wasn’t the case.

Then another speaker brought up Nate’s extreme lack of religious faith. He definitely didn’t like organized religion. He was an outspoken atheist. But he was certainly in search of some unwavering truth. The speaker (his college roommate) wished that he’d found his answers.

Later on, before a mutual friend left the services, he said, “I bet he wishes he didn’t do it.”

The thought stuck with me, especially because Nate was undeniably impulsive, and he definitely loved drugs in his youth. It’s very plausible that, alone in Indiana, he made a mistake.

I don’t know how to grapple with this suicide. On one hand, I kind of wish it was a mistake because I hate to think that he was hurting so deeply and privately for such a long enough time that ending his own life seemed like the only way out. But on the other hand, to think that he just made an irrational decision, that he might have looked back on the next day as silly, is equally painful.

One thing I know, amongst the many things I don’t know, is that I love that kid.

Rest easy, Nate.