Young Dad Was Getting Ready to Leap from Golden Gate Bridge — Then the ‘Miracle’ of a Stranger’s Voice Stopped Him

On what he describes as the worst morning of his life, Kevin Berthia woke up after years of struggling with depression and decided he was going to drive to the Golden Gate Bridge to end his life.

At just 22 years old, living in Oakland, Calif., Berthia had never been to the famous landmark. He had to stop several times for directions before finally arriving. On March 11, 2005, after parking at the north end of the bridge, he left his keys in the car and walked out across the 1.7-mile span. Looking down at the San Francisco Bay, he told himself, “The water is my freedom. I’m ready.”

He had recently lost his job and was overwhelmed by medical debt from the premature birth of his daughter. Within minutes, he climbed over the railing, balancing on a narrow pipe just above the cold waters, 220 feet below.

“I started my countdown,” Berthia remembers. “And I braced myself for impact.”

That’s when something unexpected happened — something he still calls “a miracle.”

California Highway Patrol Sgt. Kevin Briggs, whose duties included patrolling the bridge, happened to notice Berthia standing on the ledge. Known for stopping more than 200 would-be jumpers throughout his career, Briggs was often called the “guardian of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Approaching calmly, Briggs asked gently, “Is it okay if I come over and speak with you for a while? I’m not going to touch you. I’m just here to talk and to listen.”

Over the next 92 minutes, Briggs listened as Berthia shared the reasons he wanted to give up.

“I never try to tell anyone what to do,” Briggs explains. “I just listen with empathy and understanding, let them speak their peace, then get them to think about coming back over the rail.”

It worked. For the first time, Berthia opened up about his deepest struggles. Eventually, he climbed back over the railing and was taken to a hospital, where he spent 11 days.

But recovery was not immediate. Seeing his photo on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle only deepened his depression.

“For the next eight years,” Berthia says, “I went back into one of the deepest, darkest depressions I’ve ever experienced.”

Things began to shift in 2013. As Briggs neared retirement after 23 years with the highway patrol, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention planned to honor him in New York City. They wanted someone whose life he had saved to present the award.

Briggs had never stayed in touch with survivors — the only acknowledgement he ever received was a letter from Berthia’s mother, Narvella. Still, determined to fulfill the request, Briggs visited her home. She quickly devised a plan to get her son to New York by telling him he’d won a free trip from a radio station.

When Berthia walked into the ceremony and finally saw who had saved his life, he was stunned.

“I was like, ‘Dang, this whole time it was a cop who saved me,’” he says. Growing up in Oakland, Berthia had never trusted law enforcement. “If I’d known who he was, I never would have opened up to him like I did.”

But meeting Briggs in person changed everything.

“We’ve been friends ever since,” says Briggs. Berthia puts it differently: “We’re more like brothers. What happened that day had nothing to do with him being a White man and me being Black. It’s all about the power of human connection.”

At the ceremony, Berthia delivered an emotional, unscripted speech about his journey, moving the audience to a standing ovation. For the first time, he realized he wasn’t alone in his struggle — and he wanted to use his story to help others.

In the years since, Berthia has worked to manage his depression and founded an organization dedicated to breaking the stigma around mental health. He has spoken to thousands, from schoolchildren to police recruits.

Often, he teams up with Briggs, now a well-known speaker on suicide prevention, to share their story. Their mission is to encourage others to do what Briggs did that day: simply listen and show compassion.

Suicide remains a pressing issue, with more than 49,000 lives lost in 2023, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

“It really is all about just listening and not feeding people in crisis a bunch of empty words,” Briggs says. “It’s about learning how to talk to someone who is suffering.”

For both men, the message is clear: no one should face their struggles alone.

“It’s not an easy topic,” Berthia admits, “but as I always tell people, ‘Kevin makes you think, and I make you feel.’”