My cousin, someone I grew up in the same house with until i was 14, someone I considered my brother, committed suicide early tuesday morning for unknown reasons. I'm sure going to miss him. We were pretty close at the beginning, although i do admit in recent years we sort of drifted apart. He was only a month or so younger than me, and recently celebrated his 21st birthday. The reason I write all this is beyond me, I guess I just want to get my feelings off my chest. I don't know. It hurts man, knowing I will never see him again. I'm sure many of you have experienced similar situations, and I never really understood how it felt to have someone so close take their own life. Sure, I expressed my sympathy to those who went through this, but I never truly understood the pain. Now I am at a loss for what to do. I am attending his wake today, I will be spending time with his closest friends and his grieving family. I can only imagine what his mother must feel, or god forbid what his twin sister is going through. How can I say I hurt when they hurt so much more? I almost feel selfish admitting my pain.

Everything has been shaken from the very foundation. Once estranged family members are re-uniting, grudges are being forgiven or at least set aside, even people who never met Jimmy are showing how much they care. I am glad that everyone is getting along so well, but it saddens me that it is because of these terrible circumstances. If only I knew what to do.

The title of this journal may have seemed a bit silly up to this point. "This one is for Jimmy", but here is my reasoning.

I recently bought a station wagon from 1984. Back then, certain vehicles had the ability to roll down the rear window (a feature usually omitted on current vehicles due to exhaust asphyxiation hazards) This one had that ability as well, but the window was stuck down, and only recently was I able to get it to roll back up. Plastered across the top of the window in elegant white letters was the phrase "This one is for Jimmy". I had planned to remove the words, but now I think I will keep them. It isn't much of a tribute, that phrase plastered on the back of a rusty old wagon, but its the best I can do.