I, Muehlenhaus. U, Riedermaus.

I was just feeling as though I was getting through this sh*t, and then at the funeral it turns out that Ben did not die from epilepsy. Let's just say it was far more tragic than that. He succumbed to "depression and anxiety."

It's an absolute tragedy now. Full blown. Here was potentially one of the most gifted, insightful, and stunningly bright cartographers to come along since MacEachren, heck maybe even Jenks, and nobody, including myself, thought to let him know that though grad school is tough, everything was going to be alright. Emotionally I keep flying between wanting to sob and wanting to scream right now. What the hell?! What the hell?! What the hell?! Why, Ben?! Why?!

I met with Ben last October at Mapps Cafe. I remember where we sat. I remember Adam walking to the trash can and emptying it and saying hello. Both Adam and Ben are gone now, but one is in Estonia and one is six-feet under. Weird. At Mapps I talked with Ben about how his first semester of grad school was going, and he said the program was not what he expected. That he was having a bit of a tough time with it. I remember telling him to hang in there. It doesn't matter if you are Penn State or the University of Alaska, the first semester of grad school is always a tough pill to swallow. It is so different from everything you know about university and everything you think it might be coming in. It is intense. And your brain feels like it is going to explode. It is boot camp for critical thinking and massive data dumping. I told him that a lot of people need shrinks or drugs (legal, of course, though some illegal) to get through grad school sane. Hell, I've seen plenty of shrinks; I love 'em! But he said he was doing fine, just a little stressed with all of the readings and work, which is to be expected.

Then the illnesses began -- first I heard of them were in early November. Missing classes. Rumors start to spread that Ben is seriously ill -- some kind of neurological disorder. I met with him again in December. This time at the Dunn Brothers Cafe in Wilson Library -- sorry, Mapps. He said the docs couldn't figure it out, but that he was feeling better. It was a neurological disease of some sort. He was going to finish a couple of papers over winter break and be done with the tough semester. The point is, I didn't see him screaming for help, because he was always very calm and collected when he spoke.

But sh*t, he was screaming for help. I just missed the signs!!! Calm and collected means caving in grad school, which is why you see most grad students pulling their hair out and very few faculty with any hair left to pull on. (Eyebrow plucking is a good substitute, I hear, but a little bit more eccentric.)

So this semester after starting off great, Ben stopped showing up to my lectures after I kindly asked him to be a little less outspoken during class because I got flustered when he would interject and add his two-cents. I re-emailed him several times to let him know that I asked him to be less outspoken because I respect him as a friend, and I didn't want to get bitter as the semester wore on. I noted that I couldn't wait until we were simply classmates again. I told him that I was sure he would be a great instructor of the same course someday. He didn't respond very much. He said sorry, and I said not to worry about it and that it was water under the bridge. But he stopped showing up to lecture, even when I made it clear that I would love to have him there because he is so knowledgeable. And then he stopped coming to the labs... and then the tragedy. And now I feel like a schmuck. He didn't die of epilepsy. Anxiety and depression "killed" him. Anxiety and depression...

Ben is my second friend to die. The second to end his own life. Some f*cking friend I am.