By Bill Diamond

Mary sat on the suicide ledge of the harbor bridge. After months of mournful contemplation, she was drawn to the high spot. The thick fog bank temporarily retreated to the near horizon. It allowed the sun to paint the waves below in a non-judgmental and welcoming amber glow. However, Mary was still wrapped in the grey mist that had descended with the loss of her only child.

Lily’s death was the darkest valley of Mary’s life. The oppressive grief compromised the sunniest of days. Intervals when the pall lifted were brief. Then, like the nearby fog, the depression returned. Cold and disorienting, bringing a doomed drift back into despair. A cruel hangman’s slow gallows choking her breath.

The precipice was as calm a place as Mary had been in a long while. Overwhelming memories wet and reddened her eyes. She stood and gripped the steel girder a final time. A strong wind pushed her forward. Mary turned and left, still not understanding why Lily had jumped.


Bill Diamond is a writer in Evergreen, Colorado where the Rocky Mountains are both an inspiration and a distraction.

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