J* (name changed) was always the funny one – he had a brutally honest, unfiltered kind of humour. My earliest memories of him was in grade eight, when I would make him sandwiches for lunch every day because he didn’t have any money to buy his own. He was almost like the big brother I never had – was protective and loyal to me and although it wasn’t his “style” to ever admit it, he cared about me dearly.

In grade nine he was kicked out of our high school. We didn’t see each other as much and one day, I found out that he got beat up pretty badly in some teenage brawl. I remember him telling me, “I’ll never let this happen to me again”.

I didn’t see J for a few years until my early twenties. We reconnected and it seemed like grade eight all over again. His core was the same – the funny, brutally honest, rough around the edges, loyal, sweet interior but hard exterior J. However, his extension of self, his external circumstances had changed – within the years past – he was now driving a fancy car, hung out with a group of known gangsters and was making a lot of money.

In this period of my life, I lived in a world of non-reality – where associating with gangsters was “cool”, where being in a group that intimidated others was “powerful”, where identifying with being a gangster’s friend or girlfriend was strived for, and thousand dollar dinners and unaffordable handbags were rewards of association. In this world, all the players in it have a different set of normality, of justification as a way of living, a skewed sense of “right” and “wrong”. In this world, obtaining fancy things was easy, being paranoid and trusting no one was a way of life and to score a gangster boyfriend who would support and spoil you and one day fund your tanning salon meant success.

Eventually, my group of friends split into two directions. One half decided to focus on real empowerment – getting an education, climbing the corporate ladder, moving away. The other half stayed and never shook off their distorted ideas of role models and the lure of easy money. Today, I still see these people out and about – and they are living “their dream” – gangster husband that provides lifeline, babies in Burberry, “front” businesses, and very expensive handbags.

It took the death of two friends and various incidents of J’s recklessness and self destructive ways for me to finally wake up. I thought to myself, I may think I’m invincible, but imagine how my family would feel if something ever happened to me, just because I chose to hang out with testosterone charged gangsters with anger as their guiding light. I made the decision to stop associating with J and cut him and his friends out of my life.

He acted like he didn’t care. But I know inside he did. After all, being in his line of “work” – trust was something hard to come by. I remember him telling me how I was the only person he trusted and I remember nights when he would call me, drunk, and tell me how he wanted to end his life. I remember crying wishing my friend would be okay. I remember us playing as kids, and wondering how we grew up so fast.

J was murdered last week – he was shot and killed instantly one sunny afternoon.

Today I attended his wake.

I realized that while I may have chosen to stop associating with him, the care, and the history – that doesn’t disappear. I feel sad for his family. I feel sad for the choices he decided to make and wished there was a “rewind” button – perhaps if he could see the outcome of his choices, he would have chosen differently. I feel sad that not many people ever got to really know his core, his innocence when we were just kids – before everything bad started.

Our twenties are a very decisive time. It marks the time where the decisions we make will set us into the main direction of our lives. Whether it be hanging out with gangsters, being careless with our bodies, building a career – this is the time where we decide which seeds we wish to sow. J wasn’t born a gangster or a bad person – but he chose his path – which while eventually led to his death – ultimately affected his family the most. The picture of his mother and father weeping for their child lost and blaming themselves for where they went wrong, and his little brother completely lost and confused with vengeance – that is the real result of his decisions.

Dear J (Buffalo as my family used to nick name you)… may you rest in peace. My love and prayers sent to your family…