Death

I think about dying a lot. Like, more than most people, a lot. If that freaks you out, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog. The idea of death doesn't bother me (my own). I don't want anyone else to die, but the thought of dying is ok by me. In some ways, I think I'd prefer it. A note here: I would never commit suicide, so don't worry about that. I'm not tryin to be insensitive here, I'm serious. I was watching Grey's Anatomy with Sarah the other day and one of the characters has a problem that will kill her in a maximum of four months. I immediately started thinking of what I would do if I had four months to live. Not things like go sky diving or anything like that, more like tell people what I think (the good things that might not be socially acceptable) etc. This is probably not a good thing to think about. I just think dying would be easier.

There is an overpass on the main highway at home (interestate 95 for anyone interested). People seem to use this overpass a lot to jump off when their life gets too hard. A lot of the time they make a big scene and shut down traffic for a long time and still jump (not that I'm saying it isn't worth it to shut down the highway to try and talk someone down). On March 16th, a man quietly pulled his black SUV over to the side of the road, got out, and jumped off the bridge. This man's name was Paul Mitchell. He was a friend of my father's. His wife has been wheel chair bound and severely ill for about twelve years. Apparently his life got too hard. All weekend my dad thought he should call Paul because he hadn't talked to him for awhile. Monday it was too late. Please watch out for the people you know. You never know what can happen.

This is the bridge people jump from. As you can tell the river is not deep enough to give anyone a chance.