Bearing Witness

When you are a bridgetender for any length of time, you start to notice certain patterns on the river, both human and animal. For instance, the crab fishermen come to empty their pots every morning at exactly the same time. You can set your watch by them. Certain joggers run by at specific times as well. They never notice me, but I feel as if I know them. There’s a certain comfort in all this routine.

On one bridge where I work, an old man used to pass under the bridge in a green jon boat, fishing rods at the ready. He did this every balmy morning for years. He would wave at me even though he didn’t need an opening from me, and I would wave back. After working graveyard shift, he’d be my first human interaction of the day, and I grew to look forward to it.

One summer morning the jon boat man came through, and we waved and smiled at each other. Later that day I found out that shortly thereafter he had a heart attack and died, and his boat hit the far shore at a bend in the river. That’s where they found his body. I thought about going to his funeral, but his family didn’t know me, and I wasn’t sure how they would take the fact that I was the last person on earth to see him smile.

I still think about him now and then, and find solace in the fact that he was happy during his final moments, and he was doing something he loved. When all is said and done you can’t really ask for more than that out of life.