A New Sense of Hope

In 1975, after a party where there was a lot of drinking and drugging, my best friend, Randy, shot, and killed himself. He found out that his wife had been going out on him and I assume he felt he could not go on. That evening after everyone left the funeral home, I picked up a fifth of Jack Daniels and went back and sat and drank and talked to Randy in the casket. I felt a need to understand his reasoning and to purge myself of the guilt I felt over being one of those who had enjoyed his wife's escapades.