He died a year ago last Saturday. It was unexpected, but it was on his terms.
He was a brother, friend, boyfriend and son.
His life's ambition was to become a professional wrestler, and no critic could keep him from working toward that goal.
At football games you'd find him in body paint; at parties you'd find him surrounded by ladies.
On Nov. 15, 2007, he chose to end his life.
No one could have predicted his death. From the outside looking in everything seemed fine.
Truth is, it wasn't.
According to the World Health Organization, 3,000 people make the decision to take their lives every day.
In the classroom and online it's easy to learn about the warning signs of suicide. Do a simple Google search and it becomes easy to find coping strategies, fact sheets, prevention strategies and support groups.
The warning signs listed on Web M.D. include losing interest in things one used to care about, a history of alcohol, physical or sexual abuse, comments of hopelessness and nearly a dozen others.
But what happens when the warning signs don't show up? When you're left with feelings of confusion, grief and shock?
You cry and you laugh. You remember and you question. But you never forget.
We met as members of Ball State's debate team in 2005. At the first meeting we struck up a conversation about how we were both going to join a fraternity.
Neither of us realized at the time we were joining the same one.
Soon Homecoming rolled around and we spent hours with our pledge class working to build a float. The theme was "In It To Win It," and the fraternity built a wrestling ring. When we were done building it we had to try it out. Attempting to fight with a guy whose dream was to become a professional wrestler was an uphill battle. Needless to say, I lost.
I learned a lot from that match, though.
"Keep your hands in front, you've got to protect your face," he would say. Or, "Keep moving, don't slow down or I'll get yah!"
That impromptu lesson seems like yesterday. But in retrospect, that day taught me more about perseverance than wrestling. It didn't matter if I was outmatched; it wasn't about winning or losing. It was about my willingness to learn from my mistakes and my desire to get better.
God bless the sport of wrestling.
He's been gone over a year now, but his memory is still very much alive. It's the memories that make coping easier.
Write to Kyle at kpellis@bsu.edu
Kyle Ellis is a senior majoring in journalism graphics and writes 'The Cardinal Rule' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper.
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