Dead On Arrival

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It is 19:00 hours. I am driving to the weekly Rescue Drill when the pager sounds. Signal 24; Mutual Aid, Water Rescue. I hit the gas without switching on my blue light; I am only a few blocks away, and it's too early for my light to be effective, anyway.

The engines are already waiting outside the firehouse bay. Firefighters scramble to make the trucks. I wait near the ambulance for a Rescue Crew to assemble.

A group of firefighters, and one older EMT jumps onto the rig. I get on with them and we're off.

We get to the marina. The Chief is already on scene, and setting up a command post for centrallized radio communications. Firefighters and a few select rescue members hop onto the rescue boats. The Dive Team arrives, and gear is loaded onto the boats. After limited delays, the two boats are off.

I stay behind, with the ambulance and the Rescue Crew stationed with the ambulance. I stand next to the Chief and listen to the radios. Chief begins speaking with the local police department, and establishes connection with the U.S. Coast Guard. Together, they establish a search pattern in the water, centralized around a large bridge connecting the mainland to the beach. My first thought is carwreck. Ejection; Fast & Simple.

But, as I look towards the bridge I see that traffic is moving. MY theory is shot to pieces. What the hell happened? I wonder to myself.

Chief gets a message from the Police Department. "We just got a call from the mother..." The radio spits and crackles. The Truth emerges.

Our victim, a 19 year old female, was dropped off at the base of the bridge by friends of hers, and then left there per her request. She walked up to the center of the bridge, called her mother who lives about an hour and a half away, told her mother she was jumping, and then jumped.

I turn to look at the water.

Suicide.

It's windy outside. I become acutely aware of the sensation the cold, salty air leaves as it beats at my exposed skin. I watch the water.

45 minutes pass and no sign of our victim. We wait... An hour passes. Two, We don't know where our victim jumped in relation to the bridge, and the waters' currents are strong, making most of our work guesswork at best.

The U.S. Coast Guard releases the Firematic units after two hours of searching, deeming the operation a "recovery" rather then a "rescue." The U.S.C.G. requests help in a few hours to search for the body.

The rescue boats return to the marina and the firefighters unload their gear. I sit in the back of the ambulance and contemplate what my first Dead On Arrival feels like.

Later on that night I go for a run. I stand at the edge of the water and listen to the dark waves lap against the sides of the wooden dock I am now standing on. I star out into the vast, dark, empty water, and am struck by how tainted everything in my sight seems. I stare down into the dark, cold water, and try to imagine what it must have felt like to be on top of that bridge, staring your own death in the face, and then taking your own life.

The lighthouse blinks in the distance. I sit on the dock and watch the cars pass over the bridge.

I close my eyes.

I pray.