I know.

My sister called me tonight.

She said that she just wanted to make sure that I knew she loved me.

I said that yes, I knew, what was going on?

She said she just wanted to make sure I knew that.

I asked what was up.

She said that a friend's brother had killed himself yesterday.

I never knew this boy. I barely know the friend. I'm four years older than Amy, and she and this girl were friends in high school. We've met, I've heard stories, but I don't know her in any significant way.

Amy's told me about this boy before. He's schizophrenic....was schizophrenic. He started running away from home when he was eight or nine. Amy's friend would go after him, find him, scream at him, plead with him, make him come home. She's only three or four years older. That's too young for that kind of responsibility.

Their mother is an alcoholic. Recovering, for a while, when this boy was doing better, taking his medication, trying again. Relapsed a few months ago when he got worse, stopped, wasn't.

He was committed.

He wouldn't talk to either of the parents and stopped talking to Amy's friend too.

She called him every day. Said she loved him and was there. But she's in law school, first year, Harvard, two thousand miles away. He was here, in Denver. The distance is so far. But she called every day.

I can't imagine. What a tragedy, for the whole family, but I think especially for his sister, probably because she's who I know. She loved him so much, did everything she could. It wasn't enough. It wasn't her fault. She probably feels like it was.

I know my sister loves me.