The first sentence of a blog post like this always seems to be the toughest. How can you properly articulate your feelings for a person that you never met, never spoke to, never really interacted with at a personal level, and yet left such a mark on your life?

Shit. Let's just...let's just start from the top.

I followed Giant Bomb from the start. When the crew bounced from Gamespot and started doing their own thing, I was with them. A lot of us were. Giant Bomb became my primary source of online entertainment, my go-to for video games and stupid comedy alike. I devoured as much content as it could put out. This isn't that unique; after all, I've heard the term "cult of personality" mentioned more than once in reference to GB (and at the time, Whiskey Media).

However, the unique part comes in a few years later. I was in a very bad place at that time. I had just found out that my long term relationship had hit a snag; my girlfriend was cheating on my with one of my friends, both of them were quite happy with that arrangement, and it was determined that I was no longer deemed necessary in their lives. As I lived in a small college town (and attended the same university), such a clean break was impossible and I frequently, frequently ran into the two of them.

As you can imagine, this had a negative effect on my quality of life.

My refuge was alcohol. Lots of it. I don't remember that much of the next few months; such was my descent that nearly the entirety of that time period is lost to me. I stopped caring about school, about my (remaining) friends, and about myself. I no longer enjoyed any of what I used to, no longer had a presence in any of my online haunts, and basically just dropped off the map. I was nearly booted from my university, nearly evicted from my apartment, and nearly disowned by my parents. I was so broken by this betrayal, by the fast switch from idyllic paradise to complete ruin, that some around me were worried that it would lead to my death.

To sum it up, things were going poorly.

Now, don't ask my why I decided to turn on a Bombcast. To be honest, the aforementioned gap in my memory makes it impossible for me to recall why I decided to tune back in after four months. Something must have caused it. However dimly I remember my motivation, I recall what happened when I pressed play as clear as if it had been the only significant event in my life:

"Hey everybody, it's Tuesday!"

This is going to sound melodramatic, but for some reason that line was my saving grace. It ignited a chain reaction in my head, a intense truth that, for all the effort of my friends and family (which I would later thank them for, profusely) had some how eluded me. The world was still turning. People were still playing video games! Jeff was still making great rap references, Vinny is still having misadventures as a new father, Brad is still bad at games, and Ryan is still hosting the best damn podcast around. In that one moment, I had realized how much I had let things get out of control, that I was letting a small series of events, no matter how traumatic, rule over and endanger the entirety of my life.

So I listened, and laughed. My friends say, when I spoke to them the next day, that I was laughing for the first time in nearly half a year. I hadn't lost my capacity for enjoyment at all. It was right there the whole fucking time, and I had just been afraid to experience anything but the pent up sorrow that I had stored. That Bombcast broke the floodgates open, and for the next week I laughed enough to fill up two year's worth of time, let alone four months.

I decided that I could get my shit back on track.

And I did. I kept my apartment. I finished school. I made my peace with those who had hurt me. I repaired as many of the damaged relationships as I could. I started new ones. I became active and outgoing again, as I was before. Better than I was before! I am not lying when I say I honestly feel like that experience has made me stronger. It's certainly made me care for the people whom I love in a way that I no longer thought possible. I'm very grateful for those that stood by me, even when I didn't want them to.

And I firmly believe it wouldn't have been possible without Ryan and the rest of the GB crew.

I had always wanted to send him a letter. To tell him that his words had inadvertently pulled me from a deep depression. Hell, he may have saved my life. I don't want to downplay what the rest of the crew did, but just hearing that unchanged opening line framed it all so well, all so clearly. But I never sent it. It just seemed too sappy. Too easy to play off as a fake.

I'm kicking the shit out of myself now.

So, I felt like I needed to write this. To tell the rest of the crew that you've done more for a total stranger than you know. Since then, every time I felt myself getting too down, that things were getting a bit too tough, I'd flip on a Bombcast or a Quick Look and laugh myself back to health. I still do it to this day, though things have been going so well that I haven't needed that safety net. Lately, it's acted more of a reminder of how far I've come.

Until today. Now it feels like that net is gone. For now, there is no refuge in comedy. And while I know the Bombcast will continue, and that Giant Bomb will continue, the one who pulled me out of the water without even realizing it is gone.

I know that what I feel is only the tiniest, smallest fraction of pain and grief that those who knew him personally must feel. To his wife, his family, to the rest of the crew and all the extended network of friends and duders out there, you have my deepest sympathy. If there is anything that I, a random man on the internet can do to alleviate even a microscopic part of your pain, just ask. If it's within my power, I'll do it.

Because he did so much for me, and never even knew it.