A Life Lost

One of the things that every field biologist has thought of at least once in their professional life is finding a dead body. After all, we are out in every nook and cranny - from the beautiful wilderness to the urban rivers. Of all the biologists I know, I am the only one who actually has.

I remember the day, it was a hot morning in April. I worked for the city of Ann Arbor as a lepidopterist, surveying for butterflies in the many beautiful parks. That particular day I was visiting an undeveloped area on the outskirts of town. I pulled my old Honda Accord off the road into a rough parking area, got out, and opened the trunk. I pulled on my rubber hip waders, put on my field vest, binoculars, hat, fanny pack, and camera, grabbed my butterfly net and shut the trunk. Down the old two track I went, headed toward the first stop of the day, a small open meadow in the middle of a forest.

After searching the small, sunlit clearing, I made my way through a tangle of downed logs and heavy brush and popped out into the marsh. It was always slow going, some days there was a bit of standing water which actually exerted pressure on the bottom muck and made it more solid and easier to walk through. Other days it was pretty soupy and it was all you could do to keep your balance, let alone chase after something with wings.

I followed my usual route through the wetland and was headed in the general direction of my car when I noticed something blue off in the distance. "A five gallon bucket," I thought and kept going. As I got closer, the blue bucket turned into a pile of trash, or at least that is what it looked like through all the shrubs and vegetation. At first I was a bit angry at the person who dumped their garbage into this park. But then I realized that in order to get the trash to that spot someone would have had to get out of their car and walk through the marsh. Not likely.

I was making my way teetering and tottering through the muck and the hummocks when I came upon an odor I will never forget. And at the same time the odor wafted into my nostrils, my eyes fell upon the body of man.

At first, I was terrified. I didn't know if he was drunk or passed out. I thought, "How can I get away in these hip waders with all this gear hanging off me?" I didn't know if he was passed out, sleeping, or what. But then I saw the flies and I knew he was dead. Time seemed to stand still, then slowly start up again in slow motion. I knew from being a former fan of CSI and Law and Order that I should stay away from the body in case it was a crime scene. I pulled my cell phone out and called the police.

Once the police arrived I had to stay within the taped-off crime scene area while they investigated. Hours and hours. When I was finally cleared to go, I left the scene and went to a friend's house.

A few days later I found out the young man, only 28 years old, had committed suicide.

According to his family, he had been despondent and was missing for the two weeks prior to his death. Had I not been there looking for butterflies, there was a good chance his body would not have been found for months or years or maybe ever. No one went out into this marsh. No one except for me and him. I was glad to have found him, for his family's sake. How horrible to never know what happened to a missing loved one.

I had to go back to that very same place the following week and was anxious and uncomfortable. I knew that finding his body had deeply affected me on many levels. I was startled by any human-made object that didn't belong in nature. I was saddened that this person had felt so hopeless he ended his life.

I took a bunch of flowers with me and walked directly out to the spot where he had died. I stood there holding the blossoms and looked around, seeing what he saw in his last minutes, wondering how he felt. In the last moments of consciousness, as the drugs made their way through his body, did he regret it? Did he try to get out of the marsh and go for help? Did he feel relief? Or did he feel nothing at all? I looked down at the spot where his body laid down on the Earth. He was facing an old weeping willow tree. Did he look at the tree? Did the tree hear his final words or cries? Was the willow now weeping for him?

I have known depression. Intimately. I have felt the deep hopelessness and despair that comes with this horrible and debilitating condition. I have wanted to give up, to end the suffering in my heart. He did it. He had been there to show me what suicide looks like to those left behind. It is final. It is the end.

All hope vanishes with the Spirit of the departed.

I placed my bouquet of flowers where he last lay and said a prayer to his Spirit and to the Creator. I prayed for the land, which holds all memory. I prayed for his family who would have years of heartache from this terrible tragedy.

I don't know how to end this blog, except to say that no matter what, there is always hope. Even if we can't see it. Depression is unbearable at times, it can wear you out and take you to the end of your rope. But there is always hope if we want a better life. As someone once said, "Don't drop anchor here." Sadly he did.