My friend Casey

It was one of the first days of January 2018 when I found out that my childhood friend Casey passed away on December 31, 2017. I couldn't bring myself to blog about it then, but I always meant to write a post about him someday.

Casey was a great friend. We grew up across the street from each other. He was five months older than me, but we were in the same grade at school. He was a Christmas baby---his birthday is December 25.

We played together a lot as kids. One of our favorite things to do was make believe we were characters from Star Wars. I was usually the voice, narrating the story as we jumped on his trampoline. We built snow forts together in winter and rode bikes together in summer. He invited me to go fishing and four-wheeling with his family several times. He wanted to be a chef when he grew up, and we cooked together a few times. I still remember the look on his face when I showed him he could bake a potato in the microwave. We were in a few community plays together, took a drawing class together, and played together in the junior high school band for one year.

I have so many good memories of us when we were younger. In junior high school, we started to hang out with different people and began drifting apart. We still hung out occasionally, but not nearly as often. Casey had ADHD, and he struggled in school more than I did. Since I was taking as many honors classes as I could, that meant we weren't in the same classes at school anymore. Pretty soon, the only time I knew I could count on seeing him was on our walk to and from the bus stop.

I don't like losing touch with people, and I remember being upset that we were growing apart but not really knowing what to do about it. It was so much easier to just hang out with my other friends. It seemed like we had more in common and they were more available. I still tried to hang out with Casey sometimes, but we'd grown out of make-believe and it felt harder to find things to do.

Going to high school made it even harder to maintain our friendship. He went to the local high school. I went to a public charter school that gave me an opportunity to earn my associate's degree and my high school diploma simultaneously. Our schedules were radically different, and we lost that precious time walking to and from the bus stop. I still cared about him, but we rarely spent time together.

Finally, I came up with what seemed like the perfect excuse to hang out, and in our junior year, I asked him if he would take me to my school prom. He said yes.

I looked forward to that night so much. We went out to dinner and then got on the freeway to go to the dance. He asked if I'd ever broken 100 mph in a car before. I said no, and with a wide smile, he gave me that experience. When we arrived at the dance, however, he started to feel sick to his stomach. We never even went in; we had to turn around and go home. As he stopped in my driveway, he turned to me and said regretfully, "Let's do this again sometime---but next time, let's maybe not go to prom."

We never did go on another date. That was the year Casey dropped out of school. The next years of his life included a pattern of drug abuse. He'd be drug-free for a while, then relapse. He was booked into the county jail a few times on charges of possession of illegal drugs and drug paraphernalia. The first time he was incarcerated, he tried to call me. At the time, I was on my way to a college class. When I heard that an inmate wanted to talk to me, I got kind of freaked out and hung up before the voice recording could tell me who it was. I didn't realize until later that the call was probably from Casey.

He never tried to call me again, but we wrote letters. My roommates were a little alarmed the first time I got a letter postmarked from the county jail, but they got used to it.

I wanted to help Casey, but I didn't know how. His mom was already sending him to rehab. The only thing I could think of to do was share my beliefs with him. He grew up Catholic, so we had a lot of beliefs in common. The most important one was a belief in Jesus Christ as the Savior of the world.

When Casey's older brother Jake died, my heart broke for him. Casey worshipped Jake, and because he was in jail at the time I don't think he was allowed to go to Jake's funeral.

Casey came to visit me once after he got out of jail. We talked for a few minutes about life. He told me about his girlfriend at the time. We promised each other we'd stay in touch, but it was hard to follow through on that promise when I went on my mission.

We didn't talk at all while I was in El Salvador. I don't think I had his email address, and he probably didn't have mine. After my mission, I wrote him a couple times when he was in jail. I watched his house, hoping he would come home. I asked his mom how he was doing whenever I saw her outside. Once, I ran joyfully across the street, only to realize I had mistaken his younger brother Ryan for him.

By December 2017, it had been a long time since I'd talked with Casey, or even any of his family members. Clayton and I had just had our first wedding anniversary. Life was busy, and I no longer lived near Casey's house. I regret that we grew so far apart during junior high school, but find some comfort in knowing how I tried to keep our friendship alive. At the very least, Casey knew I cared.

I think about him often. He was a wonderful person who faced devastating challenges in life. I blame addiction for the overdose that took his life. My heart goes out to anyone who struggles with addiction or who loves someone struggling with addiction.

I don't believe this life is the end. I'll see Casey again. And when I see him, I believe he'll be free from his addiction. Jesus Christ is his Savior, just like He is mine. And just like He is yours.