Friendship and loneliness

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John Nreca, a lifelong Riverdale resident, tragically took his own life at the age of 29. To know John was to love him. John worked to put himself through Baruch College, where he received a baccalaureate degree in political science. John was my best friend. A brilliant and gifted young man. A kind and loving young man. A selfless protector who always preferred to give rather than to receive. He was one of the least selfish people I have ever met. His parents came here to flee the war in Kosovo. John’s father left the family when he was 10, the second-youngest of four children . He told me he was glad he left, as John had always known his father wasn’t what a man should be, and he didn’t like the way his father treated his mother and sisters. John became the man of the house, in a manner of speaking, and never learned to say no. People didn’t hesitate to ask John to do things for them, and he always said yes. Giving of himself to a fault. I cannot express how completely heartbroken and shocked I am that John is gone. In retrospect and reading back over a year of texts and emails, I don’t think this was impulsive. John suffered from depression, having had his first bout at age 18. He called me on the morning of June 26 and we talked for 20 minutes. The last thing he said to me was I love you, you’re my best friend. Later that day he took his own life. He was a devoted and loving son, brother, uncle and friend. He put everyone before himself and in my opinion people took full advantage of that. John was so intelligent, had a razor sharp wit, was extremely handsome, compassionate and one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

I met John at River City Grill one night last summer. I came flying through the door like the whirling dervish I sometimes am. John was with his two beautiful sisters who he was very protective of. They invited me to join them and I did. John said: “Who are you and what are you doing in this restaurant?” We sat and talked for a while. I spoke about my two daughters and showed pictures. Before John left, we exchanged contact information and he said: “I would like to take one of your daughters to lunch if they’re single and anything like you.” In my humble opinion, John was a genius with a keen instinct and along with genius sometimes comes depression and other things. He was a beautiful soul and the lives he touched in his 29 years are immeasurable, as are the lives he would have touched had he lived. His death is a true loss for anyone who knew him. John was very good at masking how deep his pain was. 

We all need to be mindful that if someone’s behavior changes, sleep patterns, alcohol use, mood swings etc, they are not a degenerate or a loser, rather a human being in trouble who needs help. Sometimes very intelligent people, as they walk down their path in life, albeit sometimes surrounded by wonderful people, feel that they are walking alone. Rarely they meet someone who is the same way. They bond and become soul mates of sorts. That is what John and I had. I loved everything about him. He was a joy in my life and I’m so grateful to have had the year I had with him. To laugh, exchange ideas, thoughts, and feelings and to give each other love as true friends do. Part of me died with John. “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one,’” – C.S. Lewis.

If anyone is inclined, donations in John’s name may be made to the NIMH research on depression or any mental health organization of your choice.

Lisa Steinberg is a resident of the northwest Bronx

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