My Best Friend's Suicide—Five Years Later

I’m coming up on the fifth anniversary of my best friend’s suicide, and I realized today that I have never talked about it, much less written about it, which is strange, because I write about everything. I write more than I talk. So, I decided to take some time out and honor her memory, and maybe just get some of this stuff out. She would have loved DivineCaroline.

I met Mal in the fall of my freshman year. We played rugby together. She had been a star field hockey player in high school, but, like so many of us on the rugby team, she had walked away from the grinding misery of playing on a college varsity team in order to have a life-changing and fun experience on the rugby team. We were a tight group—for most of us, rugby was the centerpiece of our college experience.

Mal and I had hit it off immediately. We both loved The Simpsons, had a very similar sense of humor, and just got along really well. By the time we were juniors, we were living next door to each other. By the time we were seniors, we were sharing an apartment together. After college, we even moved to Atlanta together with our friend, Maggie. We were like the three musketeers—we had a ball with each other.

Mal had always been a great friend. She could keep secrets, she was funny, she was thoughtful and caring—she was almost too nice sometimes. She would sacrifice anything for her friends. She brought out the best in me. One of my best memories of her is when we were living in the top floor of an old house in Virginia. We were bored and started to explore the house, and we came upon an attic filled with old, 70s-type clothes. We played dress up all night. She put on a yellow leisure suit, and I could not stop laughing. I had on ridiculously tight blue, nylon pants, and this stupid leather vest. We took pictures of ourselves and had one of the best nights of our lives.