On a cold winter day

A few years ago, around this time of the year, when I first started, there was a rough and tough looking man with a handle bar moustache who would sit in the first chair in the waiting room.
He would look straight down the hall and watch us as we went in and out of the rooms. He was waiting for his turn I guess.
He would stare at me everytime I came out with a blank stare and because of it I thought he didn't care for me, so I returned the blank, emotionless stare. It was the same everytime.
A few months went by and once or so a week I would see him sitting out there and he would see me walking from room to room.
Then, one morning, with a shocked blank expression someone said to me...
Remember the guy with the moustache? Yes, I said. He jumped off the bridge last night, committed suicide. I guess his pain was too much to handle.

I feel bad for him to this day. I feel bad that I didn't pass a smile on to him, everytime or at least once.
I hope he found peace. I don't know his name, but I'll never forget him.