Death Under the Bridge

On the way to Oma’s on Monday morning, I was driving down the hill on Fingal Line, under the elevated park bridge. There were two cars parked in the road, close to the bottom of the hill. At first, I thought that it was an accident. I slowed to see if all was well, but then I saw him. It’s been 2 days and as I write this, I am struggling with sadness. My chest is heavy and my heart physically hurts. Tears have been behind my eyes since Monday morning and fall a few times a day whenever the pictures of that morning run through my mind.  

As I stopped close to the lady standing in the left lane, I scanned the situation and adrenaline shot through my body. I asked the lady if they needed help, but as the words left my lips, I knew. The words were only my desperate longing for him not to be dead. She said, “No honey. We can’t help. He’s gone. I’ve already called 9-1-1.”  She was very tender with me. 

In those first moments as I scanned, I got a good look at him and the pictures have been burned into my brain since. I can tell you everything about him and I wish that I couldn't. I found out yesterday that he jumped and it made the ache grow even more. A man dying on the side of the road, laying there for strangers to find him. That’s sad. But a man who couldn't see his way out of whatever was troubling him and felt like he had no other option but to jump adds a different element of sadness. Maybe it was depression or mental illness. Maybe it was an overwhelming situation that he just couldn’t deal with. Maybe he just saw no point in living and had lost hope. Whatever it was, I hurt to think about his last moments and his family and friends. They may be sitting in their grief wondering why he did it, why they didn’t see it coming and if they could have given him more help. I’m praying for them. 

I drove away and made it up the hill, past Jumbo. I was shaking and had to pull over. I cried and cried. The lady that was in front of me, did the same. Two strangers sat and cried for a man that neither knew. Confronting death in this way is shocking. Devastating.

I thank the Lord that I had not gone 20 minutes earlier, like I usually do. It would have been me who found him. In the moment, I know that I would step in and do anything to help someone. Something naturally happens in those kinds of situations. You just do what you need to do and deal with the hard later. But I am so glad that I didn’t need to be the do-er. It would have made it that much harder to process today. I still work hard to manage my anxiety and I am just very tender. Too tender. I also thank the Lord that I didn’t have kids with me. 20 minutes earlier is the time that I normally bring Siah to work. The Lord dealt kindly with us that morning. He spared me from needing to check if the man had a pulse and having to wait for first responders and spared my kids from the scene.

I almost always know how I am going to end my post before I start writing it. But I don’t know what to say this time. I do know the truths that my life is built on though. We can always have hope and confidence in our Savior and in who God is. The Lord knew this man. His life. His heart. His troubles. The Lord knows my hurt heart, my questions and the pictures that won’t go away. He is perfectly just and perfectly wise. His sovereignty is a period, not a question. His tender hands hold us and shape us and love us and crawling under the shelter of His wings is the only place to go. 

Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer;

from the end of the earth I call to you

when my heart is faint.

Lead me to the rock

that is higher than I,

for you have been my refuge,

 a strong tower against the enemy.

Let me dwell in your tent forever!

Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings!