He and I were both into music. He liked metal, I liked punk. Both were a bit out of mainstream. He ran cross country, and I was just starting to run. Running was quickly becoming my solace. We would sometimes talk about music or running or school, but once the bus started filling up, those conversations stopped. 
In the winter of 1986, the salt lake valley had a temperature inversion. It was day after day of grayness and drab, coldness. It's really funny that almost 30 years later, you remember odd details. I just remember the pitch blackness when I got on the bus each morning. Like many teens, you don't know where your strengths lie. I had just found a creative outlet in writing, and was blessed by some great teachers who encouraged me. I would write on the bus some mornings, with my Walkman on, either listening to KCGL, since I had a radio on mine, or homemade mix tapes. It made a long, dark winter tolerable.
I don't remember the details of when or how we all found out he had died. Rumors abounded. What we did know was that he had shot himself. Some said it was an accident, most said it was suicide. I'm sure there was blame laid at the feet of musical choices. In the 80's, there were claims of backward messages in music, blaming it for a rash of teen suicides. The band Judas Priest even were dragged into court by a grieving family, looking for a scapegoat. I could never imagine these families pain. I hope and pray I never do.
Life as a teenager is hard. It was hard in the 80's. It's even harder today with social media. Back then, events were fleeting, now they are preserved forever online. I wonder if kids like Matt would have benefitted from social media. Maybe, a cry for help could have been posted. Maybe, someone would have seen warning signs. Or maybe nothing would have changed. Like most suicides, this seemed to have come out of a clear, blue sky. The general emotion myself and my classmates felt was shock. Stunned silence.
I wouldn't say this was a life changing event for me, but looking back, I think it set me on the path to youth ministry. It was a frame of reference to pay attention to what kids are saying. Even kids you might not think are struggling, truly might be and have already learned to wear a mask. There may be subtle clues, sometimes it's a flashing neon sign. I don't know what kind of support system my classmate had, but having one increases the likelihood of seeking help. I have been blessed to be surrounded by a great tribe, and they have helped me reach out when I've fallen into that pit. Working with youth, especially in a religious context, there are so many emotions that run wild. They, as teens, don't have coping mechanisms or support networks or even the words to describe what they are experiencing. When I first dealt with depression as a 14 year old, I had no idea what was going on. I just knew I felt sadder than I had ever felt in my life. It eventually resolved itself, but not after i spent a lot of time in my room, listening to mopey music, writing bad poetry in my journal. I was fortunate to have great mentors and role models who supported me. My faith sustained me.
I don't know why my classmate picked up that gun that fateful day. I don't know how much pain he was in, or why he thought shooting himself was the right answer. That's one of the enduring tragedies of suicide-those questions are never answered. You don't get that fabled closure. You can't wave a magic wand and make it all better. Many years later, I was leading a youth group in suburban New Jersey. A few towns over, a teen had committed suicide, prompting a discussion. Some of the kids knew him from sports. "He didn't seem like he was depressed" was the resounding sentiment. I wonder how this death is affecting them now, years later.
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