19

A pair of glasses were sitting at the edge of the driveway. One lens was out, shattered in little shards. The frames bent in a grotesque twist. Just a few inches from the glasses were where the blood trail ended. The day’s cold and wind dried it to a deep burgundy, a lot of deep burgundy. Standing on the outdoor balcony, I paused, looking at the tragic scene below. I then noticed the handprint on the railing.

The event morning of the day before became clear in my head. The argument with his mom was severe. Years of arguing, years of frustration and deep depression preceded this day. I pictured him running up the stairs and climbing over the railing. He faced backward. The last decision he would ever make hung in the air as he held on with one hand, leaning back. Mom saw him run up the stairs to the third floor.

She thought it was just another argument. She didn’t run after him. A few minutes later she called up to him. A tear fell from his eye as he let go He let go of the pain. He let go of the sorrow and the hate, and the love…but ultimately, he let go of what he could have become.