My best friend died..

Sorry for your loss mate, R.I.P.

Sorry for your loss! RIP.

the last two weeks are just too much sorry for your lost R.I.P.

Do they have any idea what happened? I'm sorry for your loss. I know this sounds weird but you should look forward to the funeral, its a powerful event.

Another young life taken before its time, the world is wrong.

Really sorry to hear this. It must be absolutely awful. Everyone is behind you dude, stay strong.

Quote from Tisky

Nope, still waiting for autopsy results. Anyone got any other good ideas for "casket-gifts" incase i dont get any takers? He loved Jack Daniels, maybe send him one last bottle.

Sorry for your loss I think everything what reminds his favorite activities will be good. My uncle died in a fire few days ago. My mother left him a prayer-book. She thought that he'll need that where he's going. He still lives in the memories but there's lot of things that I wanted to tell him. Maybe try writing a letter to your friend?

Truly sorry for your loss Tisky, I hope you can find some closure in the weeks to come.

Sorry for your loss

I recently lost my best friend too, and I know how hard that is. It was someone who was constantly with me for almost 14 years. It was my dog, my best friend.

Be strong!

I'm sorry for your loss dude!

Quote from Skjalg

I know this sounds weird but you should look forward to the funeral, its a powerful event.

it does sound weird, but it's also true. seeing how many lives he influenced and people he helped really does make you feel better.i wish i had something more uplifting to say, but all i can tell you is that once the pain goes away, all you're left with is good memories, and they will expand to fill the hole he left. share stories! talk with friends, talk with family, spend time with people who knew him as well as you did, you'll feel a lot better.

Very sorry mate !! keep well

Really sorry to hear about your friend, Tisky.

Just don't let the booze drag you down more than you are. It's always going to hurt, you just have to get used to the pain.

Sorry for your loss, I hope you might find something to take from the below. It helped me immensely not long after my Mum passed:

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Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gorged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.