Sergeant Derek Langford had been missing in the Las Vegas desert for three days when a Facebook page was created to help locate him. Over one thousand people—friends and strangers alike—shared his picture in the hopes that he would be found alive.

In our early twenties, Derek and I were new to the United States Air Force and lived thousands of miles from our families and friends; we soon forged a close bond due to our shared circumstances. But eventually this bond had to withstand the test of continuous moves and deployments.

The cords of our friendship strained and ultimately snapped over long distances. I hadn’t talked with Derek in more than three years when I found out he was missing.

The following night I checked on Facebook to see if rescue teams had located his whereabouts; my worst fear was confirmed as I saw the flood of condolences on the page. Shortly after the search commenced, a pickup truck was found with a deceased male inside. My friend Derek Langford had committed suicide.

I look to learn a lesson, in light of my friend’s tragic passing. In an age when I’m always connected to my friends through social media, I’ve begun substituting meaningful communication for superficial interactions. But social media isn’t going away; it’s up to us to achieve the balance in our friendships.

Surprisingly, in the digital age, we have to work harder to keep the cords of friendship from straining and snapping. From now on—instead of typing a five word comment on a friend’s status update—I will compose a personal e-mail, write a handwritten Christmas card, or call them on the phone. Better yet, if I’m traveling near that old friend we’ll go out to dinner and laugh about our youthful indiscretions. I can’t simply ‘like’ a friend’s status update and expect to maintain a friendship.

My fondest memory of Derek involves us joyriding in a work truck—a massive five-ton behemoth—through the nighttime Las Vegas desert. On this night, we ramped a sand dune and broke the truck’s axle on landing. In quick thinking, Derek sent me back to our work center to procure a truck so we could limp the injured beast back to its resting place; due to his smooth talking, we didn’t get in too much trouble.

Despite this tumultuous beginning, he matured into the person everyone wanted to work with. I would often observe him talking to younger Airman who were experiencing a personal problem—he always made time for everyone.

I’m left to wonder why a man—known for his goodwill to all—refused to reach out to a single soul in his most dire of straits. But what I’ll learn from Derek Langford’s story is I have to do more than ‘like’ a Facebook status if I’m going to preserve my friendships; I just wish I had learned this sooner.