Someone told me recently that, sometimes, people committing suicide by jumping off of buildings die before they hit the ground, heart stopping mid-fall due to the trauma of the act.

I can see that.  Once, when I was younger and stupider, I jumped off of a bridge in China, albeit with a bungee cord attached to my ankle.  Before I jumped, I never realized how difficult it actually is to force your feet to leave the safety of solid footing and take the plunge.  my heart beat like a drum that moment.  It was terribly difficult to coerce my ankles muscles to untighten.  I ended up not jumping, but falling forward into the sky.  As I fell, the fear dispelled.  The only feeling I can distinctly remember is a sense of awe at the speed at which the lake below was approaching.

Recently, the NY Post published a picture of a NYU student in the act of suicide, mid-fall from a Midtown highrise.  Publishing the picture was despicable move.  I wonder if they weighed the incremental profits that the picture would bring versus the trauma it would bring the girl's family.  I guess they decided it was worth it.  I wonder what she was thinking during that moment when the picture was taken.  She fell backwards, face turned away from the camera, away from her impending death, eyes turned toward the sky.    Did she feel freedom, release, vindication?  Did she regret her action?