My best friend committed suicide one year ago today. Alex Suarez and I had been friends for over forty years. We met in eighth-grade gym class. Alex was wearing a T-shirt that said “Punta del Este, Uruguay,” which I found unusual because Atlanta doesn’t have a large Uruguayan population. Neither does Uruguay.
So, I approached Alex and said that I knew where Punta del Este was. He told me he was from Uruguay and we talked about Uruguayan soccer.
We didn’t become instant friends. We shared a mutual love for soccer and played on our high school team through our senior year.
We started hanging out after practice and games and our friendship grew organically. We were never inseparable, all of our bonds evolved.
Alex and I eventually became roommates and lived together for five years. During this time we developed a mutual love for cooking. However, our styles differed. Alex preferred rustic cooking while I leaned toward the “fancy” plating.
During our roommate period, Alex’s passion for cooking led him to seek a chef’s job. He landed a line cook position at a high-end restaurant. During this time, several nights a week he would come home either cut, burned or cut and burned.
Eventually, Alex quit that job because he said it would ruin his love for cooking. So, in true Alex fashion, he went from highfalutin restaurant cook to truck driver.
Like I said, we were never inseparable. From 2001 to 2005, I taught English in Korea. However, Alex came to visit in 2002 for the World Cup the only person to make the trip across the Pacific. When I picked him up from the airport, the first thing he said to me was, “I want to eat dog.”
That quote sums up Alex in a nutshell. Brutally to the point, seeking out the unusual, indifferent to what people thought of him.
From 2007 to 2009, Alex drove trucks in Iraq, a private contractor delivering supplies to the troops. While he was never in danger, the experience shifted his political views. Previously a liberal, Alex’s time in Iraq shifted his leanings to conservative.
Alex’s political shift opened a new chapter in our friendship. A large chunk of our friendship was good-natured arguing. Whether the topic was making crème brûlée or a soccer shot clock, Alex and I reveled in the back and forth.
However, friendly debates weren’t the nuts and bolts of our friendship. We sought each other’s advice and help on food, do-it-yourself projects and relationships. We didn’t always listen to each other, but we were reliable sounding boards.
In 2012, Alex found out he had a benign tumor on his lymph node. Nonetheless, he didn’t want his family to worry so he asked me to take him to treatment. This exemplifies our relationship; we confided in each other even when we couldn’t tell our families.
Alex was an introvert but everybody he met adored him. He wasn’t outspoken yet he made every word count. He was always willing to help, especially when it inconvenienced him. He often zigged when you expected him to zag. He had an unparalleled sense of humor yet rarely made other people the butt of the joke. I was one of the few exceptions, which I wear as a badge of honor.
Rest in peace, Alex. Everybody you came in contact with misses you.
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