It’s been a roller coaster week. On one hand, the Warriors swept the Cavs in an a brutally efficient manner (especially game 4!). The good news is that means I can shave my Playoff Hair (but I’m keeping the beard long – I’ve kinda grown fond of the length). On the flip side, that means no more basketball until October… but the Giants are picking things up on the baseball side, so, you know, there’s that. Still on the subject of sports, I found surprisingly scant coverage of Justify winning the Preakness and, with it, taking the Triple Crown — joining American Pharoah as only the second horse to achieve that feat since Affirmed in 1978. Before American Pharoah in 2015, many people believed modern race horses were too specialized to take the three disparate races. And now two in three years.

The high of the Warriors sweeping came the same day as the tragic news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide, itself just days after news of Kate Spade taking her own life left me shaken. There have been some amazing tributes over the weekend, and that in of itself is heartening. It doesn’t bring anyone back, but to see how deeply so many people were affected by their lives helps ease their passing a bit.

Bourdain’s loss really hurt. I had to drop off some paperwork at a restaurant in town. I had a beer while I waited and the bartender pointed to a reserved sign in front of a seat at the bar meticulously set with silverware, plates, folded napkin and a perfectly garnished Manhattan. “That,” she said with a mix of anguish and mourning, “That’s for Tony.” I for one move to have him referred heretofore as Saint Anthony, patron saint of restaurant and bar workers, as well as the culturally and gastronomically curious. I know a lot of religious folks would rush to decry his suicide as immediate theological disqualification, and to them I say fuck off: he was gruff, profane, fallible, but he had a big heart, was quick to the defense of those picked on, and genuinely honest – that’s my kind of saint. Yes, he succumbed to depression, and if you somehow think that’s a weakness, then, brother, you’ve never been there yourself – or, in my case, sat with someone in the emergency room as they’re forced to drink charcoal to counteract an overdose. Until you stare into that abyss yourself, or hold the hand of someone on that edge, you reserve your judgement. I’m all about respecting both sides of an argument, but not here, not with this. You either show compassion and help, or you shut the hell up.

A couple months ago Fern and I took a weekday off and went to San Francisco to hike around the Presidio and visit the library downtown. On the way in Fern noticed a commotion on the northbound side of the Golden Gate. “Must be an accident,” she said. I stole a glance from the road and knew immediately that wasn’t the case. “Someone jumped,” I said, and my brain flew back to the day I nearly lost someone I loved to the bridge… The day in the Presidio was gorgeous and I swear I almost found the manzanita I was looking for. Later, we were walking downtown towards the library and the sun bore down making it a stunning early spring day in San Francisco in the low 70s. And suddenly I got really sad again. Whoever it was that morning on the bridge, stared out over a beautiful morning and leapt. He or she didn’t get a chance to experience that epic day in San Francisco, nor will they ever. And yet, that leap was preferable to the utter torment going on in their own mind…

Many of the tributes this weekend have shared the number for the suicide hotline (and I will too: 1-800-273-8255), but that’s not enough. If you know someone who has depression, reach out. Don’t wait. Do it now. Tell them you’re thinking of them. Send them a hug. Or, hell, go on over and give them a hug. Be there for them. Let them know you care for them and that you want them to be around for another perfect day in San Francisco.

Or, for a lovely summer day in a hammock under the redwood trees wondering whether Durant should have gotten the finals MVP or we’ll have to wait another generation for a triple crown horse.

Love each other, please, for Saint Anthony.