On Spirit Day, I wore purple; but for me, the statement of support was not abstract. I wore purple for my dear friend, and in memory of his first boyfriend.

My friend, we will call him Juan, met his boyfriend at City College. Neither Juan nor his boyfriend, who we will call Greg, was out of the closet when they began dating. A few months into the relationship, Juan slowly and cautiously came out.

Greg did not. He was estranged from his parents. His friends were unabashedly homophobic. Greg increasingly turned to prescription drugs and alcohol. Despite Juan’s efforts to intervene, Greg overdosed.

When I got the call, I was returning from a backpacking trip. The next morning I woke up early and found Juan passed out drunk at an irresponsible friend’s house. I rubbed his back, got him dressed, and took him home, as he sobbed his story. The night of Greg’s death, the equally intoxicated friend he had been using with called Juan instead of 911. It was Juan who tried to resuscitate Greg. It was Juan who was with him when he died. It was Juan who was questioned by police.

The next weeks were devastating. The experience of seeing my jovial and talented friend reduced to a state of bottomless grief is indescribable. Because he had been present at Greg’s death, Greg’s family and friends were hostile and accusatory. They hadn’t known Juan was Greg’s boyfriend, or even that their son was gay. As such, they struggled with the news, and with Juan’s desire to be included in the funeral. Everyone did their best, but prejudices die hard. As Juan’s friends and family, we tried to swaddle him in love. But as time went on, his depression deepened and his suicide attempts began.

Finding help for Juan was difficult. I found him a therapist and checked him into rehab at Cottage Hospital. But they only kept him for 72 hours and signed him up for outpatient follow-up. They said his insurance didn’t cover residential treatment.

It is a testament to Juan’s strength to say that he has made it through the worst of this loss. Although it’s not easy, he is back to daily life. He is moving forward, and once again flashing his puckish smile.

Greg had been clinically depressed; leading a double life was just one of the things weighing on him. To say that he committed suicide is to assume that he meant to die, which we can hardly be sure of. Regardless of his intent, I am haunted by his fear of being found out, and his inability to see or seek the support that was around him.

Which begs the question, how many suicides each year are closeted gay individuals? I bet the numbers would be staggering, but there is no real way to know.

Greg is the reason for Spirit Day. It is not for the bigots, (I highly doubt seeing people wearing purple for a day will change their perspective.) It is for those living in fear and isolation, to show them that there is a supportive community.

Even though Greg’s death was not publicly recognized, here in his anonymity, we can celebrate and honor him for the man he was, beloved and unforgotten.