To Speak Ill of the Dead

I've started this post three four times. Here's the essence of what I'm trying to say, in three sentences:

My friend Nathan, who was an immature self-centered jerk, killed himself in a particularly graphic manner six years ago today.

I don't think I've ever felt sad about what he did, because he hurt a lot of people in having that really selfish last word (which has deeply annoyed me); I've just felt sad that he never figured out how to relate to people better.

Without trying to sound sappy or insane, sometimes Nathan appears in my dreams and in my dreams he's figured it out, which brings me as close to sad as I'll ever get on this issue, because we were a lot alike, and we could have been much better friends than we were.

I'm sure Nathan would have a love/hate relationship with the blogosphere - he had a love/hate relationship with everything mainstream - so here's my humble attempt at putting him there, if only for a few paragraphs.