He’d always had a thing for jumping from great heights. You can probably tell where this is going.
Nobody really knew him as a thrill-seeker. His life didn’t revolve around it, he never made it part of his personality. He just, occasionally, liked jumping off things. Not your just regular Friday-night bar stool jumping though. No, he had given that up as soon as he hit his head on the ceiling and screwed up his landing. Roofs of small buildings were still fair game somehow. Three stories he handled gracefully, not breaking a single bone in his legs in all the times he tried.
We lost the joy of seeing stick those insane landings when he decided to go higher. Not that he was deliberately injuring himself, but to jump from higher he had to have the environment help him. He transitioned to jumping into water. This was of course a safety measure, but it gave us false comfort about his shenanigans.
We were out hiking. The sound of water crashing down beckoned us closer. The prettiest natural pool kept us there. Before we knew it, he was making his way up to the top of the waterfall. Even asked him if he had checked the depth, said he had. Not sure if he ever actually did, it wouldn’t be the first time he played fast and loose, but it ended up being not quite deep enough. When the helicopter flew us out, he left himself behind.
I don’t blame anyone. He probably enjoyed it.