It might not be immediately apparent how that experience has impacted you - it might not rear its head for years, but suddenly you'll be walking down the street and a smell, a snippet of someone else's conversation, a sound, something will trigger that experience for you, and it will suddenly transport you back to that moment in time.

You'll likely feel hit by a sledgehammer.

Last week, I saw a man die.

Locals were shocked beyond belief at the incident and the loss of the man's life.

It's easy to go down the rabbit hole of wanting to know more. To know if he was married, had children, friends, loved ones. To learn what he did for a living, what sort of man he was, what sort of life he'd lived. It's a weird feeling to feel so connected and yet disconnected to a person whom you hadn't even had the pleasure of meeting.

It makes you want to meet him, even after his tragic loss. It makes you want to know to whom you feel this connection.

But at the same time, it's not about you. You shouldn't make it about you. And despite what you, dear reader, may think about this column, that's not what I'm doing here.

Panning out from the heart of the scene, from the pulsating panic emanating from the calmness of loss, you can take in the whole picture. And in some, strange way, take a small ounce of comfort.

Moments after the collision, people had stopped. One young man in a hi-vis shirt - probably on his way home from work - was directing traffic, making sure that there was space for the others who were helping.

Preventing further tragedy from transpiring. Protecting those trying to save his life, and those passing by from getting caught up in the debris field. He appeared calm as he directed people, even though you could see the pain etched on his young features.

There was another man holding what looked like a sun shield - the kind people use in their windscreen to block the heat from their car's interior - to protect the man on the ground from the burning sun's rays and the prying eyes of those passing by.

There was another on his knees by the man's side, administering CPR with everything that he had.

Even from far away you could hear the silent pleas this rescuer bade to a higher power to help him bring the man back.

Tragedy has a tendency to bring out the best of us - or some of us at least - in the worst of circumstances.

People thrown together by a mutual inherent commitment to others despite a lack of personal connection to those standing by their side. People who made a choice to stop. To run towards trauma, not away from it. To help, not hide.

I took comfort in bearing witness to those people in my community who had rushed forward to help, to lend a hand and do whatever they could until the first responders could arrive.

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were in a situation to render assistance in circumstances like these? Would you think twice? Would you think at all? Would you just act?

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I believe that it's one of those things that you can't truly know about yourself until you are faced with the situation first-hand. It is perhaps not something a person can prepare for. It's not a time for thinking, it's a time for acting. Thinking will likely come later.

I drove past the spot where it happened this morning as I took my son to school, and noted the flowers and memorial that had been placed in memory of man who lost his life. It both saddened me and gave me comfort to know that he had been so loved.

But this is, perhaps a time where words hold only cold comfort, no matter how warmly they are meant and keenly they are felt when spoken.

Sometimes, there simply are no words. There is only each other.