I really hesitate to blog this because there's just very little point to bringing everyone else down with me, but I can't work and I can't think so there you go: you get to hear it, if you care to. Just move along if you're not up for a bummer. It's not something you need to know about. Local stuff. Sad stuff.
I drove into work today and passed by a dead body outside my office building, which is the main administration building on a college campus. A student, very possibly from this campus, riding a bicycle, was struck and killed by a Brinks (actually, it was a company called AT) truck. I didn't see it happen but the body was there. This is all RIGHT outside my window, though thankfully I'm on the third floor. Right now they're taking measurements of the mangled bicycle and--ugh--washing the blood off the road.
This is a quiet town, in the scheme of things; it's a stunningly gorgeous fall day, and the student wasn't even on the road--the truck had turned into a campus access road where it must have collided with the bicyclist. I'm just sick about it. How can this have happened here? Of course, it can happen anywhere.
I keep trying to concentrate on research and rankings and the outcomes associated with a liberal arts education, but it's hard not to think about how none of this matters to one family. I work a lot with the person who is probably making a phone call no one wants to make. It's difficult to fathom.
I want to hug my babies. I have been planning to go to a fun thing tonight, but now I'm reconsidering. I'll probably go, but, well, there's a tragic edge to this brisk fall day.
ETA at 2:30 pm: I found out that it was NOT a student at this college, which, for those of you who know where I work, is the college in the same town in which I live. I just don't want to name names because of the google factor. So Wenders, Caroline, Lee Ann, it wasn't your place. Mafia, it was yours but like I said, it wasn't a student. I'm strangely relieved to know that fact, which is sort of odd because I've lived here much longer than I've worked here and it was someone who lived, or at least rode a bike, in my community. Rumors about her identity are rife--she was either a 24-year-old or an older gray-haired woman and there's some question as to whether she has connections to yet another area institution. I'm sure we'll find out soon.
The fire trucks and the policelinedonotcross tape and the bike and the truck and its driver and what was left of the bicycle are gone and the bits of life she left behind have been washed down the storm drain with a fire hose and some bleach. It was all very efficient. Someone I don't know is making the hard phone calls, and that is also a strange sort of relief.
I'm still going out to play because, well, my babies are safe and I need a night out. But I will hug them tight tonight. And remember how lucky I truly am.