An open letter to the family who’s mother died on the bus on Saturday morning.
I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry you had to go through that experience in such a public place with a group of random strangers. I’m sorry I couldn’t help and I’m sorry I have no other way of dealing with witnessing this other than to make a blog post out of your pain.
I didn’t see the accident, so I can’t say what happened. Maybe it was fated. Maybe it was just bad luck. Maybe it was just a culmination of a series of unfortunate circumstances that led to a tragedy.
There is no way for me to understand what you felt, what you’re feeling now. I barely understand my own reaction to having been there when the ambulance was called, when she stopped breathing and her pulsed ceased. I only know that your sobs and cries and screams of anguish haunted me to work and back.
I’m sorry I froze. I’m sorry I was holding back a panic attack, but I’m glad I did because it wouldn’t have been helpful to anyone. It wouldn’t have woken your mum up. It wouldn’t have made the CPR any easier.
I don’t have any words of comfort – no half hearted, compulsory speech about how “she’s in a better place,” or “she’s not in pain anymore.” Just again, over and over. I’m sorry.