Adam Charles Blunck was my best friend. He left this world on September 29, 2019, and I’ve struggled ever since to find peace. I wrote the following for Adam’s eulogy:
The world just isn’t as bright or joyful without Adam here. He had a quick wit and was always ready with a clever remark for any situation. He had an ability to see things for how they truly are, and he would unequivocally tell you as such. There was never a dull moment growing up with Adam, and it was wonderful to see the man, husband and father he became. Adam was loyal beyond measure to those he cared about, and the best friend I could have asked for. I’m forever thankful for the experiences and conversations we had, and how he brought out the best in me. I love you brother and I’ll see you again someday.
I cherished Adam’s absolute honesty, fierce loyalty and preternatural ability to cut through any and all BS. He was the guy that let me borrow his truck for my very first date in high school, the guy a quick mind and quip, the guy who loved mischievous pranks. He was solid, unflappable and fully embraced who he was in life.
Adam’s experience in the Marines and defense contracting developed his determination, dedication and decisiveness. We didn’t talk much about his time serving abroad; it wasn’t my role to judge or pry into it. I’m thankful he found camaraderie and brotherhood with fellow Marines.
War changed Adam and when he got out of the service he was lost in life. Then he met Amy; pursuing Amy gave Adam purpose, something to strive for. Adam transitioned into a devoted and loving husband, and later a proud father of his little daughter. Civilian life was a definite shock to him, and I encouraged him to develop his interests and further his education.
I never realized how terrible his inner demons were. Trauma constantly ate at him, but he didn’t want to burden others with his pain. We talked every day and I thought he had “turned a corner,” so to speak, and was back to embracing life.
I regret so much looking back. I wish I had been a better friend. I wish I had been more available. I wish I had told him how much I relied on his friendship and how much I respected him. I wish I had noticed the signs Adam was sinking. I wish I had called him that last week when he stopped responding to my messages. I wish I had done something, anything, for my best friend.
Most of all, I wish I had told Adam my story of mental illness – amidst the overwhelming darkness and pain, there is comfort in the grace of our almighty God. The stigma of mental illness…kept me silent. The fear of judgment by people who don’t care to understand…kept me silent. The weakness in myself that I can’t fix…kept me silent.
I wish I had told Adam he’s not alone in his struggles. I’ve been there, to that dark place that whispers lies about myself. I’ve heard the siren’s song to let go of life so the indescribable, inexplicable pain stops. I wish I had told him how medication, family and faith kept me going. I wish I had told him to take things one day at a time. I wish I had told him I find daily cathartic release listening to my music, reading my books and (occasionally) writing.
I miss Adam every day but I know I’ll see him again someday.
Here are a few snapshots of the Adam I knew and loved. Please feel free to share any pictures or memories you have of Adam.