Again

I don't know where to begin.
It's happened again.
Today I found myself in a place I wish upon no other.
Again I was standing over a man's body, watching him slowly die. But this time I reached out and performed CPR.
Again I looked across the street from where I stood to see my husband and son looking back at me, and longing to have not had to cross into the ugliness of the accident alone - but glad they were safe on the other side.
This time the accident was less of an 'accident', as the man took his own life. The forensics determined that he most likely jumped from the building. I saw a prescription bottle of pills in a bag the officer was holding when I went back to ask if the man lived. He didn't.
My thoughts are scattered. Bits and pieces of the afternoon flashing back. A hug from Ryan yields me thinking about how the man's ribs felt under my palms as I performed the CPR. Seeing Ryan's feet makes me think of the man's bare foot slowly loosing more and more color in front of me. The sound of Dylan's cry makes me think about how alone this man felt that he made that final jump today. Holding Dylan in my arms reminds me how precious and fragile life truly is. My own fears about death and dying make me wonder how anyone could reach the point of wanting to end their own life - especially in such a violent way.
And it makes no sense to me.
It won't.
Not in this lifetime I'm certain.
But something my mom said to me tonight on the phone really helped. I wanted to know why God would have put me there at that moment. To be there and have the courage to reach out to try and save that man, to learn that he died anyways. To go through these feelings of helplessness again. And she responded by telling me that "we look at our lives and see the back of a tapestry - knotted and ugly and disordered. But God weaves it together and only He can see the front - a beautiful and perfect picture, absent of the knots and disorder and confusion. A perfect picture that we won't see in this lifetime, but oneday will and it will all make sense." I'm thankful for those words. It helps me to put my confusion in perspective. To help me let go of my helplessness. To remember that I only could do my best and that I am not in charge of the rest.
And as I write now about this experience to try and find some kind of outlet, some kind of peace, I know it won't come today. And it won't come on Monday when I have to go to my recertification course at work for CPR (ironic that this all happened just two days before a class that I take only once every two years and just studied for last week!) But I pray that it will come soon and I can let some of this go - somehow.

p.s. Thank you Kathy for being here for our family once again. And thank you for your kind and encouraging words tonight.