From 2004 until mid-2007, I walked to work almost daily from my house on SE 38th and Hawthorne to the Portland State University campus. Crossing the Hawthorne Bridge from the east heading into downtown, I felt deep gratitude to live in a place with such beautiful ways to view the river and city. Always alive with activity – cyclists buzzing by, people running or fishing from the esplanade below the bridge, dragon boats skimming along the river – Portland was vibrant even when my own life lacked brightness. I loved that walk, even in the rain and oppressive heat, and I loved the things I could count on seeing everyday.

Returning from work in the evenings, just at the top of the on-ramp, I would take pleasure in one fixture of the bridge, particularly in the month of December. The Man in the Mickey cap, with the white suit, waving to the cars and playing music was a little spot of light for me in times when I could not make my own light. I came to count on seeing him, particularly during the months when the sun set before I left work. He was something like joy for me, in his apparent happiness, sharing his perfect gift with walking, riding and driving commuters just at the point in their day when they, like me, most needed him. He did not make eye contact, no words were exchanged, but he always made me smile and I thanked him with my heart.

I found out just recently that he died in 2012 and that his death was a suicide. I have been thinking about him for several days and trying to put together words to express what he meant to me and what I would do differently if I had had some foresight back when I was just another commuter whose day was brightened by his trumpet music and magical presence. Would I have slipped him a note to thank him? Would I have learned his name and listened to his story, if he had been willing to share? Would I have given him the space in my life to be more than a particularly pleasant part of my daily routine? Perhaps.

What I understand best about hindsight is that it exists to try and make us feel we can be better, treat others and ourselves better. We reflect and recall in order to believe that we have learned from our past failings or oversights. It is a perfect tool that, if used correctly, can help us make better decisions. But it is also entirely subjective and only truly useful if we will it to be so. And hindsight has healing power for each of us individually and can, perhaps secondarily, impact those who were part of the original experience. But there can be an impact and belief in that is essential.

Magical Man in the Mickey Hat, I wish I had told you how much I appreciated your presence. I wish I had known that you, like me, felt the weight of depression. I wish I had the ability to do for you what I am only beginning to learn how to do for myself. Perhaps it would have made a difference. Hope allows me to think so and one thing I know, without any doubt, is that holding onto hope is the bravest thing, sometimes the only thing, we can do in this life.

It’s Christmas night and I am one who does not feel well at the holidays. For those of you who understand this, I just want to say how necessary it is that you know you are not alone. Find that tiny place of light, you know it exists even if buried deep, and cup your hands around it to feel its perceptible warmth. Hope lives there. And you can fan its little flame.