Several years ago, on a Friday afternoon around 4:55 p.m., a man parked his car in the parking lot next to my law office.
He got out of his car and took about twenty steps to the intersection of Gore Avenue and the train tracks.
The man headed east on the train tracks.
About 300 feet or so down the tracks, just past the school my children attended in the old train station, an Amtrak train sped around the bend.
You can imagine the rest.
The man wasn’t lost. Or, maybe he was.
Turns out it was a suicide.
If I recall correctly, the man had a wife. And children.
I think about the man on Friday afternoons when I hear the Amtrak train come barrelling down the tracks.
What was he thinking?
Why couldn’t he have asked for help?
Were things really that bad?
Depression is a very, very real thing. Not something to ignore.
I can’t really imagine what was going through the mind of the man on the tracks. Money problems, marital issues or health concerns?
Clearly, very despondent and without hope. Not believing in the possibility of change.
I get it. I understand and I in no way judge the man on the tracks.
But I have to have hope. I have to believe that no matter how dark things get there is always a part of us that stays good, that wants to live and soar and thrive. It might be a very small part of us, but it is there all the same.
I am sorry and sad for you, man on the tracks. I hope you found peace.