On March 4, I left for work 10 minutes later than usual. As I neared the Churchill crossing in Palo Alto, I heard the long horn of an approaching Caltrain. I saw the usual cluster of high school students on bikes waiting to cross over to Palo Alto High School. But this time was different. An ambulance blocked the road, and the students stood still. Paramedics loaded a small body bag into the vehicle.

I was shocked when the first coworker I mentioned this to seemed to already know exactly what had happened at that intersection. Her children had attended “Paly,” so she was intimately familiar with the suicide clusters that haunt this community and continue to endanger students at the highly competitive schools in this area. She described the above-ground Caltrain as a “gun running through the city,” luring vulnerable children into making a fatal decision.

Like many, I was once a vulnerable teen. I struggled under the weight of college ambitions and the distorted self-image that incubates in competitive environments. I remember thinking a 4.2 GPA wasn’t enough, waking at 3:30 a.m. to study, staying on campus for 10-hour days, and still working afternoons as a tutor. High school was the hardest period of my life. It still feels miraculous that I made it through.

I wonder: if I had grown up here, near this gun running through the city — would I be here today?

There is a long-term solution: putting Caltrain underground, ideally with a physical barrier like other cities that have reduced suicide access. It would cost — but can we put a price on the lives of our children?

In the short term, we must, at the very least, do something. I drive by that intersection often and could not recall seeing any suicide prevention signs. On my birthday (March 22), I visited the memorial left by the tracks. I was right — there were no signs.

We have more mental health resources than ever: 988, the California Youth Crisis Line (800-843-5200), low-cost and free support services offered by nonprofit organizations. But why are we so hesitant to publicize these where they are most needed? Why do we whisper about suicide instead of shouting our support for these kids?

Caltrain limited its reporting on suicides. Is this only to avoid copycats — or is it also to maintain the illusion that everything is fine in these affluent, high-achieving communities? The most recent direct mention of a signage campaign is from 2010. Even more troubling, Caltrain still refers to suicide victims as “trespassers” when addressing this issue. What is the point of criminalizing dead kids? What does any of this do for the still-alive children who bore witness to a tragedy that day?

I emailed Caltrain asking about this. I received no response.

We are not powerless. Signage works. A simple message — “You are not alone. Help is available. Call or text 988.” — could interrupt the fatal logic of a moment and save a life. We owe that effort to every student who walks or bikes past those tracks.

We can’t undo the losses this community has already endured — but we can stop pretending we’re powerless to prevent more.

I hope those we’ve lost have found peace. And to those still with us: We need you. You matter more than you know. Tomorrow is a new day.

Melissa Cook is a writer and incoming Berkeley Law Opportunity Scholar focused on gender law and justice.

If you or someone you know is struggling with feelings of depression or suicidal thoughts, the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline offers free, round-the-clock support, information and resources for help. Call or text the lifeline at 988, or visit 988lifeline.org, where chat is available.