A friend and colleague of mine committed suicide yesterday. I heard from a well-meaning friend who knew it would matter to me. It does. I “heard” in email, which is acceptable regardless of how hard I fight it. I did not run out and share the news randomly, because my mother raised me better than that. I processed it alone, driving in my car, alternating between good and funny memories and incredulousness of how we truly never really know one another. I am old enough now and have seen enough now to not be surprised by surprising suicides. After that long drive, I did realize that there was one person who I needed to tell. So I did. Just the facts. No speculations, no contrived statements of surprise, no exaggerated memories of what he meant to me, no “ah ha” moments that clearly and retrospectively pointed to missed signs that he was in trouble. Just the facts as I know them. And I don’t know much.

Which brings me to my real point. I don’t deserve to know much. It’s not my business to know the whys and wheres and hows and who-found-him and was it work stress or money or addiction or loss. But somehow that doesn’t stop others from speculating in group emails and on social media, places where his family members could easily come face-to-face with this morbid curiosity which just cannot be interpreted as honest sympathy and concern. I am not saying I am not curious. Of course I am. But it seems like that is so far removed from basic politeness and love and compassion. Shouldn’t that come first? Or are we so far gone into our instant gratification society that we cannot simply be patient and let the story unfold over time?

We need to stop and think. Our perceived “right” to knowledge shouldn’t trump a family’s right to privacy and a natural mourning process.

My friend and colleague was tortured; this is true and was apparent to many of us. He was a perfectionist and an honest and assertive debater. When he was passionate about something, he could spar at expert level. I loved this. While often exhausting, it also presented a side that I may not have otherwise considered. He was so frugal he even stayed in cheap hotels on the company’s dime. He was crazy about his wife and his girls. He always took the stairs. He loved the stock market, 70's music, golf, Karaoke, and cognac. I liked him. A lot. This is what I know. This is all I should need to know.