I don’t know him, I never will, but I will most likely see an image of him for quite some time. Maybe that’s all he wanted? Just wanted to be seen, to be thought of, to have someone shed some tears and feel specifically for him. I’ve done all that for him. Now what?

There’s a bridge that crosses the creek, a bridge that takes the bike path from one side of the creek to the other. I like the bike path, it follows the same path as the creek through town, the path gets you away from traffic, the creek drowns out the sound of that traffic. Creeks drown things out, that’s what they do. So it goes.

I like the bridge too. I always stop on the bridge, right in the middle, where its gentle arc up turns to a gentle arc down. I stop in the middle because in the middle all I can hear is the creek, and when all I hear is the creek it makes room in my mind for things that need room.

Why did he do it here? Why did he do it at all? If I had made it to the bridge a little sooner would all that happened have happen differently? Maybe better? Maybe worse? Maybe I should have stayed home, stayed away from the creek, away from the bridge? But, I like the creek, I like the bridge, I like the way the world looks and sounds from there.

I know what the world looked and sounded like the moment before he could no longer see or hear this world that he felt he no longer wanted to be a part of. What he did to himself is over for him, just beginning for me. The creek, the bridge, they are still there, but they are different now. Different to me, because of him.

I’d rather it be different for me than someone else I suppose. Someone much younger, someone just learning to ride their bike, someone just learning to love the bike path, the creek, the bridge. It can stay as it has always been for them.

It could have been different for him, could have been different for me, but it is exactly what it is for both of us. Like the creek, I will move on. Move on under many more bridges, over many more rocks, through life, a part of life. Move on in a manner I wish he could have. Move on and hope that I can look down upon the water from the middle of that bridge and see water again, only water.

Water. Not him. Not that way. But for now I see him. Lifeless, because he chose to be lifeless. I know nothing of the many “whys” that may have moved him to this choice? From that same bridge I’ve paused many times and felt thankful for the life I have, felt moved to smile, felt moved to live deeper and fuller. Same bridge…different lives.

If you feel as though you can no longer bridge some of the gaps in your life, please reach out and talk to someone.