We didn’t know each other that well, but I remember you. We went to App together and had a lot of the same friends. You were really quiet, had a shy smile and bright eyes. I met you through New Life and we had orchestra together, maybe the same biology teacher as well. I remember talking to you about science outside of Walker Hall.
You were a year or two behind me, and sat somewhere in the second violin section. You seemed to be quietly passionate about music, maybe an industries major? Whenever we spoke, I remember being struck by your intelligence and subtlety. Not showy, just quietly, gently assured. I respected you.
My heart aches for your family and your short life, how acutely and grotesquely it’s been snuffed out. I cannot imagine the pain your family is experiencing.
There are hundreds if not thousands of people affected by, and mourning, your death. Even as an acquaintance, your excruciating disappearance and death have affected me deeply, and I grieve along with so many others.
I believe people are much more connected by our simple humanity than we’d often like to admit, and when one of us passes in such a tragic manner, the effect is exponential. We collectively mourn the loss of one of our own, such a bright, brilliant existence so quickly and brutally snuffed out. The weight of such a loss is heavy.
This horrific event revealed how fine the line between life and death can be. Our existence is so much more fragile than I sometimes realize. Mortality is shockingly, uncomfortably, black and white.
I hope for peace and, in time, healing for your family. I hope for eternal rest and peace for your soul. Your death is cause for untold grief, but also speaks to the beauty of your life. Rest in peace, Jonathan.
You are not enclosed to your body, nor confined to houses or fields. That which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the wind.
– Kahlil Gibran