A resurrected monster

Thus far this summer things have gone relatively quiet with regards to the eventual reincarnation of Baltimore’s demolished metal monster, the Francis Scott Key Bridge. The state has said it would select a contractor by the “end of summer”. Such time is generally marked by the advent of Labor Day weekend, and so today that announcement was made. Of course, at this point very little else is known, especially what the new monster will look like. All that has been specified is the height and length that the new bridge is expected to be, among a few other minor details. The first thing that must happen is the destruction and removal of the remains of the old metal monster, as the new one will be resurrected in the same spot. I know that when they begin breaking up the remains of the two main piers I will have an emotional reaction. Even to look closely at those parts of the bridge while it was standing was disturbing after the jumping incident. That I cannot do without imagining a battered, bloodied body draped on the base of one of those piers. Knowing that is where he died after falling almost two hundred feet. As I have noted before, it is hard to look at that which I had avoided for so long, to finally confront the reality of what happened so long ago. The blood splattered iron monster might soon be all gone, but the memories remain.

I still do not know why I found that death so disturbing, especially since I really didn’t know the guy other than just to say hello on the phone. My mom and my friend John knew him, and likewise they, especially John, were quite upset when they got the tragic news. It was not like I hadn’t known people who died, even those who died suddenly and at a young age. These were people who died of cancer, heart failure and other illnesses, and even one acquaintance who took his own life (though not by jumping). All were shocking and sad, yet none rose to the horrific level of the Key Bridge jumper. I can remember when I found out that he had died. This was back when that news station occasionally showed a live shot with the Key Bridge in the background during the traffic and/or weather reports. The immediate reaction I had was one of horror and disgust, especially when I was told that he hit the pier. Then when I saw the bridge on TV, those feelings only intensified. What a horrible, sickening thing that bridge became in my mind. I had forgiven the past when I made that accidental and scary first drive across it, but this death could not be forgiven. Of course, neither the bridge, the contractor who built it nor the state agency that operated it was in anyway to blame. The jumper willing drove out onto its span and leaped to his death. It was his choice. I doubt he chose to hit the pier, but he did make the decision to end his life. The Key Bridge became a scapegoat of sorts from that day on. But a scapegoat for what? As said I really didn’t know the jumper. Given that lack of a personal connection, then what could it be?