From 2016:
Read the whole thing here.I have a theory that you don’t become a full-fledged adult until you’ve weathered the death of someone with whom you are intimate, not in distant memory but at the actual moment of that person’s demise. (You get a pass if you yourself come close to dying, but not otherwise.) If that’s so, then I grew up at the end of 1995, two months shy of my fortieth birthday, when my best friend died a painful, senseless death to whose details I was fully and agonizingly privy.