August 23, 2025. I came home from work in a good mood. It had been an easy shift that left me with more energy and joy than I usually feel on the drive home. Walking through my front door, I was blissfully unaware of what was yet to come. In a low tone, my mother called me into the living room and told me to sit down on the couch. With my father next to me and my mother in front, the next words I heard sent me into a spiral. “Reuben Schmidt is dead,” my mother fought to say. “What?” I said.
The news that one of my closest friends wasn’t here anymore was so foreign a concept to me. The next week existed distantly, only as a foggy and hazy memory. As I navigated the week before the start of my final year of high school, I couldn’t shake the feeling of nauseous unease that followed me. My mother’s words were all I could hear, constantly echoing in my head. I tried to quell my thoughts by drowning them out with music, but this was only a temporary fix. The 15-year-old who I’d known for most of my life was forever that—15. Throughout my grief, I found no escape.
“Grief comes in waves,” says David Bierly, a Minnetonka High School counselor, “the wave can completely go away for a while and then something happens.” As time passes, I have found that the hardest waves to handle happen when alone. They happen when I am having a good day, then I suddenly remember Reuben. Life has a way of bringing you down, and time is the equalizer.
Reuben’s funeral happened a week after his death on August 31. The same church sanctuary in Chaska, Minnesota, that only months before held his brother’s wedding, now hosted his funeral. The same pews in which I had joyfully watched his family celebrate now held my numb face, staring at his urn. Yet through the grief, I could make out the impact that Reuben had on his community. I saw his barber grieving with his mountain bike team. I saw his Boy Scout troop huddled together with his classmates. I saw family, friends, and neighbors. I saw his girlfriend, his church family, and in the bathroom mirror I saw me. Reuben’s drop in the waters of life rippled out and personally touched hundreds of people. This ripple effect is what has kept me going.
At a time in my life when breaking down nearly always feels only moments away, the visual of water rippling through a pond is what keeps the feelings below the surface. As I think of Reuben’s mellow demeanor, I am reminded of the drop of water.
March 11, 2010–August 23, 2025
Carver County Crisis Hotline: 952-442-7601
National Suicide Hotline: 988
Hennepin County Crisis Hotline: 612-596-1223
