One night last month I was walking along the river in Galway, coming home from dinner with a friend. I was completely hypnotised by the gushing water and something about it got me thinking about what it would be like to fall in, how cold it must be, and how quickly you’d be swept into the sea and washed away. Morbid, I know, and maybe it was the wine I had with dinner, but there’s something about the Corrib that transfixes me like that.
I rounded the corner at Jury’s Inn and as I walk along the bridge, a young girl came towards me. At first she just looked tipsy but as I walked towards her I noticed that she also looked quite distressed. We made eye-contact, I kept walking. She walked past. Two complete strangers just walking over the bridge. But something in me was jarred by the look she gave me and I stopped and looked back. She had stopped. She looked at me again and in my embarrassment at having being caught looking, I turned and walked again. But then I wondered, why had she stopped?
And I didn’t want to look back again, because part of me knew what I would see. And yet I knew I had to. So for the third time, I turned back to this poor stranger. This young girl. Only about 20. She had climbed over the railing on the pedestrian side of the bridge. I called out. She looked at me. I ran towards her, wondering how I could urge her back over the railing. I told her it was OK. I told her to come back. But with one last look straight into my eyes... she jumped. And I watched her plummet into the powerful water and she was swept under the bridge.
I called 999 immediately and told them. I was terrified and also wondering if I should have walked back sooner. Could I have stopped this? It was dark and the operator was keeping me on the line until the fire brigade came, asking could I see her? No. Did I know her? No. What was she wearing? And I described in intricate detail because I’d known something was up when I saw her. Everything about her registered.
The fire brigade and ambulance came, and rushed towards where I pointed, down towards the Long Walk. And I stood at the bridge watching the flashing lights, crying now. How were they ever going to find her? Slowly I edged my way towards them, realising I had to tell them what I’d seen. And as I edged closer, (not knowing my place or if I’d be in the way) a man walking past said they’d found her. He said they’d taken her out of the water. And as I came into the loud lights of the fire brigades and the ambulances, I saw her sitting up talking to the Gardaí and the paramedics. With a blanket wrapped around her.
This girl could have been anyone. And I do still think I should have stopped and asked her if she was OK. But I also realise that even taking time to notice her made a difference. Taking the time to stop. Too many young people have died in Galway this year, and too many all over the country. When these people go alone into the darkness, sometimes the only thing that can save them is the kindness of strangers. We need to stop and ask if people are OK. Without shame or embarrassment. Or at least we need to stop and turn back and watch out for each other.
And if any of my friends here are feeling in a bad way, I urge you to contact someone. You are not alone on your dark night. Even message ME, even if we haven't talked in years or if we never knew each other that well. Just tell someone.
I hope that you are all ok today and that you have wonderful weekends filled with fun and friendship
I rounded the corner at Jury’s Inn and as I walk along the bridge, a young girl came towards me. At first she just looked tipsy but as I walked towards her I noticed that she also looked quite distressed. We made eye-contact, I kept walking. She walked past. Two complete strangers just walking over the bridge. But something in me was jarred by the look she gave me and I stopped and looked back. She had stopped. She looked at me again and in my embarrassment at having being caught looking, I turned and walked again. But then I wondered, why had she stopped?
So I looked back again. She was looking out at the water. “She’s just drunk,” I told myself. “She’s just looking at the water the way you were.” And I kept walking. But again, something in me knew she was acting strangely.
And I didn’t want to look back again, because part of me knew what I would see. And yet I knew I had to. So for the third time, I turned back to this poor stranger. This young girl. Only about 20. She had climbed over the railing on the pedestrian side of the bridge. I called out. She looked at me. I ran towards her, wondering how I could urge her back over the railing. I told her it was OK. I told her to come back. But with one last look straight into my eyes... she jumped. And I watched her plummet into the powerful water and she was swept under the bridge.
I called 999 immediately and told them. I was terrified and also wondering if I should have walked back sooner. Could I have stopped this? It was dark and the operator was keeping me on the line until the fire brigade came, asking could I see her? No. Did I know her? No. What was she wearing? And I described in intricate detail because I’d known something was up when I saw her. Everything about her registered.
The fire brigade and ambulance came, and rushed towards where I pointed, down towards the Long Walk. And I stood at the bridge watching the flashing lights, crying now. How were they ever going to find her? Slowly I edged my way towards them, realising I had to tell them what I’d seen. And as I edged closer, (not knowing my place or if I’d be in the way) a man walking past said they’d found her. He said they’d taken her out of the water. And as I came into the loud lights of the fire brigades and the ambulances, I saw her sitting up talking to the Gardaí and the paramedics. With a blanket wrapped around her.
This girl could have been anyone. And I do still think I should have stopped and asked her if she was OK. But I also realise that even taking time to notice her made a difference. Taking the time to stop. Too many young people have died in Galway this year, and too many all over the country. When these people go alone into the darkness, sometimes the only thing that can save them is the kindness of strangers. We need to stop and ask if people are OK. Without shame or embarrassment. Or at least we need to stop and turn back and watch out for each other.
And if any of my friends here are feeling in a bad way, I urge you to contact someone. You are not alone on your dark night. Even message ME, even if we haven't talked in years or if we never knew each other that well. Just tell someone.
I hope that you are all ok today and that you have wonderful weekends filled with fun and friendship
Contact: The Samaritans on 116123 or via SMS: 087 260 9090 or go on their website: www.samaritans.org, or contact one of the groups here.
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