A Net

I had the misfortune to see a man jump to his death from the Aurora Bridge a few days ago.  He was on the outside of the railing, bright in his colorful tie-dye t-shirt.  In his hand he clutched a piece of paper as he leaned back and looked over his left shoulder at the water way down below.  I thought, "He's going to break those glasses!" 

I've seen this before and rehearsed what I should do, which is screech to a stop, jump out and start begging the person to get down and knock it off, but with little kids in the car I couldn't do that. Plus, I had a vision of starting to speak and then seeing him let go. It would be my fault. So, helpless, I drove past. It felt terrible.

As I continued north and reached the end of the bridge, watching him in the rearview mirror, he vanished.  He was just about here -

- and then he wasn't.

Of all the emotions I felt - anger, frustration, sadness, regret - the one I ended the day with was gratitude, and here's why.

My neighbor and I saw the suicide as we were driving home from watching a play at the Seattle Childrens' Theater.  We didn't know, until that morning when all the kids were playing out front and the adults stood around chatting with coffee, that both she and I planned to go to see the Musicians of Brementown, she with her oldest and I with my youngest.  Because of this - the life I live with neighbors congregating out front - I wasn't alone when we saw the man on the bridge. 

Later that night my family joined some good friends for dinner.  The kids dove into spaghetti and meat sauce, brilliantly made out of leftover meatloaf, while the grownups ate a perfectly mellow potato and leek soup, lifted mussels out of their shells before dunking chewy bread in the broth, spun linguini with seafood around our forks and washed it all down with a crisp and sweet Riesling.

And we shared stories and sadness, because my friend has also seen a man fall (leap? jump? dive?) to his death off the Aurora Bridge.  It helped to have someone understand the dark confusion and distraction that consumes you after seeing a stranger's suicide.  The wine helped too, of course, and the food, the sound of the children chattering away from the nook in the kitchen.

In this way the day ended with the realization that I'm fortunate to have a net beneath me, a group of friends who appreciate good food, good wine, and gathering around it.  When sadness descends I'm quickly comforted by those people and things I'm lucky to have in my life, luxuries like mussels and Riesling, blessings like neighbors standing around with coffee while the kids play. 

And that's really what I want this blog to be about - these treasures.  They are things we can all wrap around us, something I wish the man on the bridge had been able to do.