Reevaluation

Look Again.

Now that a week and a day has passed since the Vista Bridge incident, I can look back and reflect on it a little better.  The first few days after it happened, I walked around in this weird half-state.  I'd be going along with my day and I'd forget about what I'd seen.  Then all of a sudden I would remember.  Sometimes something prompted it, but sometimes it just came from nowhere.

It messed with my appetite.  I didn't eat anything the rest of that day.  The next day I didn't eat much either.  Or the next day.  I just felt sick.  I couldn't really understand why, but I did.  I know that what I saw was a shocking thing to see but I felt like I should just be able to "get over it" right away, since I didn't know the person.

Friday morning I had been driving back from dropping something off for my dad, and I made the mistake of looking to my right as I crossed Jefferson Street.  Dead center, Vista Bridge (that was a poor choice of words, sorry.)  That was the first time I'd seen the bridge since January 22.  I never wanted to see it again.

By Saturday I still hadn't found the courage to go anywhere near the bridge, much less under or over it!  Saturday afternoon I was hanging out with my sister.  We left the house to go buy red hair dye (Manic Panic, Rock n' Roll Red, for anyone who wants to know.)  I told my sister (H) that I hadn't been able to drive under the bridge again because it freaks me out, but that I hoped I would soon get the courage to do so because going down Highway 26 and taking the Canyon/Jefferson exit is so much faster than going up and over Burnside to get to my appointments.

H said, "Let's go.  Right now.  Let's drive there.  I'll be with you, so you won't be alone.  Let's go before you can change your mind about that!"  H is very spiritual and in tune with energy, so I knew that she could tell how afraid I was.

I made an abrupt left turn and within 10 minutes found myself taking exit 73 for Jefferson.  I felt like I was in a dream as we exited to the right, curved left, when through a tunnel and emerged near the 1894 water reservoir.  I couldn't breathe.  I gripped the wheel.  My jaw was clenched.  H said, "I can feel you tensing up."  The road curved to the right....

... and then there it was.  Looming over the road, just as it always has.  The road was empty.  No cars.  No body.  No blood.  Just road.

The articles about the suicide said the girl was 19 years old.  So young!  My sister looked her up on facebook.  It took a while for me to get the balls to look at her picture, but I'm so glad that I did!  Now whenever the horrific scene on Jefferson Street comes to mind, I push it out and replace it with an image of her smiling face.  Not that I believe for a second she was deeply, truly happy in that picture, but it's better than the alternative image I have of her!  She was a pretty girl in life, and I'm glad I can picture her that way instead of the way I actually saw her.

It makes me sad to think that she was so sad.  It takes a lot of courage to end your own life. Don't get me wrong, I still think it's selfish.  But would I have the guts to let go of that bridge?  Hell no.  I'm not angry at her anymore, just sad.  She was only 19 when she chose to leave this world on that bleak, gray, January day.  I really hope she's at peace now, and that wherever she ended up is better than where she left.