Jedd Lopez

I’m 24 years old. There are countless moments in my life that made me who I am today. To this day, I still talk about my high school marching band. I talk about picking up a camera and shooting my first show. I talk about listening to Nirvana for the first time and wanting to play drums. And don’t even get me started with the Disney College Program…

All of these moments had a substantial effect on me, but the most significant day, the day that had the biggest impact on my life, was the day I lost my best friend Colin.

I’ve always struggled to write or talk about Colin, because it never gave him justice. To me, it always felt unfair to him. I don’t want people’s first impression on him to be about what he struggled with, but instead about what he meant to me (and to everybody that knew him.)

I was probably 16 years old when I met Colin. He just joined the high school marching band and was checking the drum line out. I wanted him to think I was cool, so I played the shit out of my snare drum. It must’ve worked, because he always thought I was a lot better at drums than I actually was.

Colin and I clicked instantly; ask anybody who saw us together. I always said we were the next Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. We went and did everything together. He had my back 110% and I had his.

Colin’s creativity, his huge heart, and his ambition always inspired me. I was always jealous of that kid. I still am.

Colin was always the first person to see my photos. He gave me advice and support when nobody else did. When I had my first photo printed in a magazine, it wasn’t me telling everybody about it, it was Colin. That kid believed in my work more than I did. He believed in myself for than I did.

To this day, whenever I’m doing a shoot, I always think about how proud Colin would be of me.

September 18, 2013 started out as a normal morning. I woke up, made coffee, and headed to class. Right before I walked into class, I got the news.

Colin committed suicide the night before.

I spent the next hour sitting on the hallway floor calling everybody I knew. I didn’t want them to find out through Facebook or from anybody else. That was one of the toughest things I’ve had to do.

Dealing with his death was something I didn’t know how to do.

I wish I handled it a lot better, but when the only person who gave you advice was the one gone, it’s hard to think straight. Colin was the only person I wanted to talk to about Colin’s death.

There are a lot of things I learned how to prepare for, but carrying your best friend’s dead body at 21 wasn’t one of them.

There was so much anger built inside of me that year. I hated everyone. I hated seeing people happy, I hated seeing people with their friends, I hated every, single person. I regret feeling that way for so long, but I couldn’t control it.

I pushed a lot of people away and lost a lot of great things. The only comfort I have is that I’m in a much better place now.

I used to drive to work an hour early every day just to sit in my car and cry. I needed to do that before every shift. Nobody knew about that though.

To this day, I haven’t had a full conversation to my parents about his death. It’s too difficult. I don’t want my parents to see me cry.

In person, I’ve only talked about it to two people. It’s hard, it’s still so hard.

Since you left:

I’ve learned that time does not heal everything.

I still find myself almost texting you about news I heard or accomplishments I’ve made. I guess I’m still not fully convinced you’re gone.

I think about all these memories you’ve missed. I think about how you won’t be there when I get married. I think about how you would’ve been my best man.

I think about the days I needed you.

I think about how you’d yell at me for being so damn hard on myself.

Colin, I’m no longer mad at you for what you did. I’m no longer upset that I wasn’t aware of your battle with depression. I’m just sad. I can’t even come up with a better word for it, I’m just sad.

I’m always going to feel like I could have done more.