Yesterday, I was walking towards the Diag at the heart of the University of Michigan’s Ann Arbor campus. I noticed some chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and took pictures. I noticed some carving on a treetrunk and took pictures.
And then I noticed all the backpacks. Everywhere. And all the students standing, bending, crouching to look at the backpacks more closely. I stopped. I bent over. I read the stories. Each backpack represents one person who died of suicide. Most of the backpacks have their story attached to it, with farewells from grieving loved ones. Some are the actual backpack the person used in their own student experience.
I walked around the collection of backpacks slowly. I snapped photos. I finished looking at one section of the backpacks and thought, WOW. Then I started walking again. And then I stopped again. Because it wasn’t just one section. The backpacks were everywhere. I kept looking, and watching, and taking pics, but did not even try to get pictures of ALL of the backpacks.
As I finally straightened up and was about to leave, I heard a woman’s voice behind me, saying "Hurry up. I don’t want to see this. I know, it’s probably a fact of life, but … " It was a woman who is probably my age, certainly past student age, but dressed like a student in tight leggings and a tshirt, with the arms of a light sweater tied around her shoulders. She and her companion sped up, almost sprinting past the display, her dyed-blonde ponytail bouncing in the sunlight of the beautiful day.
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