He was 32 years old - took his own life. Rural Missouri town. He was plugged into his church, coached little league sports, good job a couple towns over managing a contractor supply outfit, built and raced on dirt track circuits, friends out the ass. Don't have the details yet but appears to have sat in a car in the garage with the engine running. Doesn't matter how. The outpouring of support and sympathy from the community was phenomenal - hundreds attended visitation, and they postponed the memorial service by an hour and a half so his parents could receive condolences from more of the line that wandered out the door, through the hall and into the parking lot. I don't know how they did it. The outpouring of support blew my mind - on a good day I'd be lucky to have 50 people visit my corpse. He'd touched so many and outwardly had such a full and fulfilling life, yet he killed himself - and it doesn't sound like any/many knew he was teetering on the edge. His mother is angry - still isn't processing it well. Dad is... Crushed. Been to many funerals in my days on this rock, yet this one hit me harder than almost all of them. Depression is a horrible thing. Do me, all of the other faggots here on Poal - and especially your family and loved ones - a favor if you will: If you feel depressed, angsty or otherwise overwhelmed to the point you're considering suicide, please tell someone. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem - and one that you can't take back. Life will continue and you can feel better. I promise.