A Word Or Two On Suicide
Standing in a crammed GO Train makes me reflect on suicide. No, not mine--I'll be here for a long while--but other people's suicide.
Last night, my taxi drove along Lakeshore. I saw a collection of lights, cop cars, fire trucks and ambulances. It was a real spectacular display. I also saw officers covering up with white sheets what I presumed to be bodies. The story.
This morning, my GO Train was cancelled because of the continuing investigation. Instead, I traveled on the aforementioned, uncomfortable, sardine-can-commute.
If it's a person's prerogative to commit a selfish, thoughtless act, such as suicide, I have no problem with it. Of course, I also have no respect for that person. The 'heroic' suicide doesn't exist; suicide is a true coward's last act.
But if you're going to go the coward's route and take your life, why choose the train as your instrument? Ever heard of an overdose? Or, in Canada it's quite easily achieved, white death? I hear it's a wonderful way to go.
I get it: these two people crushed on the tracks have their message finally heard. They inconvenienced thousands of people. Cool. But the end is all that matters. And in the end, we're still breathing; they're just an inch in a newspaper and a few sighs.