I was sitting in front of my computer putting the final touches on my lesson plan for the day when the phone rang. I'd placed a call to the Oregon City Police department in the hopes of pinning down some answers. When I looked down at my cell and the screen read "withheld", I knew who it was.
In the PCC Hillsboro Center, all faculty share office space. In the interest of being courteous to the literacy teacher sharing the space with me, I went outside. It was Officer X, the same officer who took my testimony on Saturday. He'd called me back in response to my message. He knew the man's story.
The young man was a chronic transient with alcohol problems. He'd recently gone clean and had something like three weeks of sobriety under his belt. He had shown up at his mother's house and told her that he didn't want to live anymore. This was earlier in the day on Saturday.
The narrative, as we are able to understand it, is that the man then walked to the edge of the cliff in Oregon City and threw himself off. The officer went into further detail, but in the interest of decorum I would rather not go into them here. Also, I kind of wish I didn't know them.
It wasn't a violent crime and it wasn't a train, which were the group's two guesses, but suddenly it has become something sadder, more morose, and I'm left wondering about what it means, what his life means, and how I can possibly bring meaning to this situation. It's a big question mark at this point and I'll always wonder about him. I didn't get his name, really almost avoided it, but I do feel tied to his life somehow, or is it that he's tied to mine.
His family's been notified. I'm sure there will be a service to honor him for the man he was. It comforts me to know there is someone there to pay respects, to pray for him, to honor him, and to remember him. In the end that's what we have of our loved ones, right? The memories. The remembrances.
I'm glad there is someone there to remember him.
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