Then: It was January, 1990 when I stood on the Gorge bridge outside of Taos, NM and while looking down imagined what it would be like climb over the rail and plummet a quarter mile to the river below. What I felt was relief … relief and a sense of freedom. Now I wonder, was it courage or a lack of courage that caused me to turn around and walk off the bridge that day?
Now: A friend sent me a picture, last week, of a much younger me. I was different then. I knew life was worth living. I didn’t question whether I mattered, had value or worth. I cried myself to sleep … cried for the person I used to be.
In Between: I think it was when I first heard the news of Beau Biden’s death that it suddenly struck me how unfair this all is. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could give up my seat on the bus to someone who wants to live and knows they have something to live for.
In honor of World Suicide Prevention Day and as a thirty year veteran of the dance, I challenged myself, surely there is something I can contribute to the conversation and something I can share with my fellow travelers.
I shared my concerns with a friend and she suggested that focusing on the dance might be precisely what I ought to contribute. You see, focusing on the act of suicide is like deciding what color to paint the house when the foundation is crumbling. I contend there is power in the dance. We are all touched by suicide. Shouldn’t we learn to dance with it?