A week or so ago, I had heard that one of my childhood friends, Marc Davis, had taken his own life. This morning, I read his death notice online in the Daily Herald.
Marc's family was our backdoor neighbors while growing up in West Provo, Utah, and we played together from as far back as I can remember, even though he was about 2 years younger than me. Most times, our fun involved bicycles and pretending to be motocross riders or Evel Knievel. Together, we would get into trouble with either our parents or various of the neighbors.
After I started attending 7th grade and beyond, Marc and I slowly stopped doing things together, but we'd see each other over the fence from time to time. I don't know all that he was experiencing in recent years, but it appears that Marc had some difficulties that seemed to have weighed heavily upon him.
I'm thankful for the rush of memories that have come back in recent days since learning of Marc's passing. With his dad and mom preceding him in death, this leaves his older brother, Wayne, as the surviving member of the Davis family.
