Bridge Over River Mortem

Overhead, orange-tinged skies, warm my cold heart. It was a good day. Three days in a row we had glorious sunshine, with not a spot of rain. The mood among the people I met on my daily commute was one of optimism and hope.

There was a general sense of camaraderie across the city that made the humdrum of office work a little easier to bear.

As part of commute, I always took the route that led me across the bridge and the River Mortem. There was always an interesting array of people from all walks of life gathered there. Each taking a moment of contemplation before disappearing over the edge.

A small child was chided by their mother after asking, "why is that woman standing there? Where do the people go?"

My mind was focused on the day ahead and the clients I was working with right now. McLusky and Sons were the kind of client I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Pernickety, patronising and pretentious.

Easy to despise and gifted at transforming a good mood into a bad one with a frown and a curt word or twenty.

Gerard McLusky sat across from me, unsatisfied with the recent progress, but not exactly clear what he was specifically unsatisfied with.

A stern man with the leathered face of a topographical map of Uganda, I'm sure someone somewhere loved him. There's always hope, until there's not.

After a dressing down by his lordship I heard a commotion in the shared office space my colleagues used , outside my office.

"Please. I didn't mean to interfere but I can't stand around while someone I care about visits the bridge."

It was Caroline, our secretary and often given to hysterics was being led out by two policemen.

"What is going on officers?" I asked, but feared the worst, as there had been...incidents in the past.

"Ms Werthers is being taken to the station to be formally charged with obstruction violations."

"Not again Caroline."

I shook my head and headed to the lift and out into the cool but clear evening sky for my commute home.

There was something refreshing about the cool breeze on the back of my neck. My cardigan was not nearly warm enough and that was fine by me.

Approaching the bridge I saw a number of people stepping off. With the wind in their hair, it offered a poignant poetry to my commute.

A young woman, like me, but several years younger though still in her twenties, was standing at one of the steps that led to the edge of that section of bridge. She seemed hesitant. While others continued to bid farewell, she stood, tears streaming down her face, clutching what looked like a small sock, perhaps a child's.

My eyes shifted from her to a man and another girl who stood silently. It appeared that the man stood aside and held his hat in hand while the woman took her final steps. It seemed the most polite thing to do.

I continued making my way home. Too often I had seen hesitant folks before their step off the edge.

What could be done?

As I ate a rather filling moreish bowl of Mac n cheese (a recipe handed down several generations of women in my family), my thoughts turned to the young woman.

While tolerated and encouraged, it was safe to say no one was happy to see people disappear. I had never felt quite on board with it. But I was just one person.

I had my own moments, too, of contemplating taking that step to nothing.

I always had a strong sense of being. In my self. I was always able to pull myself back.

When morning came, it was another bright and colourful start to a day that would end with a date with Marcus. I was excited.

Nothing was going to stop me from working through my easier than usual list of appointments to a night of cosmopolitans and steak with my favourite human.

That girl is still standing at the steps to the edge.

Several people have stepped off, despite their insistence that she go next, since I've walked past the bridge.

Though not unheard of. I stop for a moment.

Something is clawing at me. Do I... No. Don't be stupid Siobhan. Keep walking.

These appointments aren't going to sort themselves and Marcus. Handsome and delectable Marcus awaits.

But, as I approach the doors to our illustrious high rise in the heart of the city, a sudden pain pierced my stomach.

I walked back to the bridge with no real clear thought process in mind.

Several other people gave up living as I looked to see if the young woman was there or not. For a moment I thought she had finally made a decision.

Then I saw her there. Sat on the side as others who were surer with their decision said goodbye.

She was again holding, fondling the sock I had seen her with.

I opened my mouth but no words came out, as I stood just staring at her.

Sunken cheeks, chapped lips and the dark circles and bags of eyes that had not closed properly for more than 24 hours.

I didn't just sympathise, I empathised with her

I was her many moons ago.

"Who did the sock belong to?"

Clunky and awkward I wasn't really thinking about how to conduct this conversation but it felt appropriate to just get to the point. Whatever that was. I wasn't one to break the rules and Marcus in all his steely handsomeness was making me doubt I was even making the right decision.

"My... Daughter. She was two. Leukaemia. I..."

She stumbled over her words as tears streamed down her face once again.

"I understand. The grief never leaves you. That loss stays with you. I know. From experience."

I fell silent. Felt like I was offering nothing but sycophancy and platitudes.

I was one line away from saying "it gets easier".

After all, I knew that was a lie. A fucking lie.

I have never not missed my dear Evie since I lost her when she was just four months old.

How could I tell this poor broken woman hold on?

Break the law and what prolong her suffering?

"Doing this won't bring her back..."

I felt my stomach cramp and a migraine bloom as those ridiculous words left my mouth.

"Maybe not but neither will continuing to play the part of a grieving mother with an emptiness that can never be filled again."

I understood in that moment that nothing I said could really make a difference. Unfortunately.

She was lost. But she didn't have to face what came next alone.

So I sat. With her. We cried. We talked. Until she was ready.

Hours passed and day became night and day again.

We all face death alone, I wanted to accompany her.

She looked at me once more. Not for permission. Just for company.

As she stepped to the edge, the man in front of her stepped aside and removed his hat.

*

Thanks for reading