Pat had a wry sense of humor, he was a loyal and kind friend, and was one of the smartest people I had ever met. Getting the call in early 2006 that he had taken his life was devastating and still feels surreal. I remember sitting in my Brooklyn sublet, and my mom telling me something had happened to Pat, and they were still trying to figure it all out. No one wanted to admit that it had been a suicide, or accept it, but knowing about Pat’s past struggles with depression, the awful truth slowly came into focus. He had been living in Berlin, he had been off of his medication, and he had recently had some difficult struggles.

I had seen Pat at Stanford in his last summer, and he was his seemingly cheerful self. He told me he had been in the hospital, and I later learned that it was because he had a serious depressive episode. I often thought about that day, and wish I had told him to call me if he ever felt like that again…but I didn’t know the whole story.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, I got to know Pat’s family. I had breakfast with his older brother in Seattle, and he came to my show that night. I met his twin sister, who looks so much like her brother it is uncanny. Pat’s parents came to see me when I opened for Nas in Connecticut a few years ago, and I’ve been in touch with his mother over the years, who is currently writing a book about her son.

Recently, I visited Pat’s family when I was in Connecticut for another family event. I sat down with Pat’s mother Lisette to interview her for my podcast, and it was a poignant, meaningful conversation. She made lunch for me and said, “If you’re anything like Pat, I knew you’d be hungry.” Pat’s posters were still up in his room. We talked about memories of her son and my college friend, the stages of grief, and a dream I had where Pat had told me everything was going to be okay, and to keep laughing, as he always did.

The chorus of “Twenty-Three” had started to feel more sad these days. As we get older, I find that it’s easier to become more nostalgic about high school and college. Those years are over so fast, yet they define so much of who we become. I had kept in touch with a very small group of my college friends, and Pat was one of them, until he took his life, which made it even harder. As the rest of us grew up, got married and figured out our careers, Pat will always be twenty-three, about to go back for his master’s degree, and trying to make sense of life through his unique perspective.

A resonant message from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is that “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem,” something that makes so much sense in retrospect. While those of us lucky to not suffer from depression can not completely emphasize with people who do, it is important to try to remind people who are suffering that there is always help.

At the Boston show with Big D, Pat’s family showed up to show their support. They watched from the side of the stage and I gave them a shout out before playing Pat’s song. Afterwards, his brother, his sister, his niece and his mother all watched Big D in the back, as his niece danced and twirled to the ska songs. It was her first concert.