Jumpers

This morning, I was walking to my bus stop and noticed an ambulance and some police tape outside my building. Then, I saw a few people on the corner looking up. In my mind, this could only mean one thing. . .someone was threatening to jump. Not wanting to see this happen, I turned and went to the other bus stop. As my bus went by, the ambulance was gone and the police tape was gone. "Phew," I thought, "Someone actually talked this person into going back in." Sadly, that wasn't the case. What I was seeing was actually the aftermath of someone who had jumped early in the morning.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first jumper I've witnessed in the years I've lived in this building. The first time, I was getting my hair done, my roommate was in the suburbs and she received a call from a neighbor letting her know what had happened. I returned to our building not knowing what I would encounter. I just wanted to know what side of the building it was on, so I wouldn't have to see anything.

What people don't tell you is what goes through your mind in the days after. . .did this person jump from a higher floor and go past my window? is it someone I rode the elevator with? did laundry with? maybe I held the door open for them once, or they did that for me. Nobody tells you when you move to a big city that someone is going to jump out of your building to end their life. Then you think: what could they have been going through that they thought this was the only solution? And why did they think jumping out of the building and possibly landing on a pedestrian or being seen by some child and scarring them for life is the right answer?

As I prepare to move out of this building, I think about these times - when people in the elevator actually talk to each other, incredulous to what occurred . . . sharing what we saw or heard. I think about the people I live with or know who are struggling silently. . .and I hope they find help. And I hope I never have to hear about or see another jumper.