I resented him, sometimes. I knew he was needy for a reason - brain tumors, increasing pain from a back injury from a job, coupled with the desire not to be dependent on anyone and to be alone - I understood this. Sometimes my life doesn't allow me to be where I am needed by people, and I do resent that.
He committed suicide. He called me to be there. And now, I am haunted that I could not be more for him. He was just a friend, a guy who was bitter at how life had treated him, what it had handed to him, how it had left him. I see him everywhere now (which can be just the drawbacks of a small town). I see him at the Weis, at the restaurant I work, walking up the block painfully, or at the top of the stairs, asking for some assistance. He was lonely, and sometimes I feel I let him down.
I was there for him when it was worth it, though. I cared for him through his attempt at suicide, and then his body just gave out, and I found him there, cold, stiff, lavender skinned. I helped dispose of his effects.
In a sense, I'm glad I am haunted by him. I am glad I knew him. I am glad I found out about him. I am sorry his life became what it was these last few years. He is at peace now.