Nothing like driving past a dead body in the next lane to slap you back to reality in the morning.

Unidentified man jumped from the tallest span of the interchange at US-75 and US-635 this morning. And apparently the police need bigger blankets in their squad cars.

I want to feel sorry for the guy, and I guess maybe I do just a little, but at the same time, beyond the fact that he chose to kill himself period, the fact that he decided to do it in such a public, dramatic fashion - and by doing so put others at mortal risk - tempers my sympathy quite a bit.

As I passed the scene, I was aware of an odd sensation, though. One that I had not experienced before. It was the stark juxtaposition of this lump of protein laying in the middle of the highway that used to be a person - one who came to the conclusion that life was not worth living - against the now-tangible and brightly burning sense of life and potential and future that was emanating from the little girl strapped into the child seat behind me. I swear, it felt so real I wouldn't have been surprised if it had started casting shadows in the car...

I remember thinking "Lord, please don't let her see that..." I didn't want her to have to wrestle with (or ask me) the questions that come from the sight of a corpse. Questions that seem particularly empowered when death invades the normal, day-to-day routine of our life to slap us in the face with our own mortality. Not yet. Thankfully, that prayer seems to have been answered in the affirmative.

Now I get to carry the image of the body-almost-under-the-blanket for a while. That which has been seen cannot be unseen. And if you know me, you know I'll be running all of the implications of the scene through my head for some time. Lovely. Welcome to the week!