A few weeks ago when I was working in the Emergency Department of a small rural hospital, I was asked to come along on a Medical Examiner's call with the physician. Only in the country would a local ER doctor also work as one of the county's medical examiners. Had I been working in the city as I had requested (and been denied) I would never have experienced this night.
The 12-hour shift was coming to an end. The combination of northwest cloud coverage and daylight savings ensured that the night was thick and black by 8 pm. Dr. K had received a call requesting his presence at a suicide scene in a neighboring town. We changed out of our hospital scrubs and back into our "regular people" clothes. As I got into my car I regretted having worn a tan trench coat that evening. I looked like a worn out older version of Nancy Drew and felt embarrassed that perhaps the cops would think I planned this outfit for my crime scene investigation.
I followed the doctor out of town and down a long dark highway 15 miles out to what most people would deny labeling a "town." A stretch of interspersed houses and fields lined the single road. An occasional porch light was on, but otherwise this was a place where either the people hit the sack before Jeopardy ended or they simply saved money by keeping all lights off. The only activity along the entire road was the flashing lights of several county police cars at a driveway of one otherwise lifeless house.
The doctor's car pulled off the road and parked behind a 4x4 truck. A few 20-something-year-old kids huddled together in the dark along the road staring at the house with devastated faces. Obviously the friends and family had already heard the news. As we would find out later, this was because the suicide victim texted his friends minutes before the final pull of a trigger. He thoughtfully didn't want his wife to be the one to discover the scene.
I carefully pulled my car up behind Dr. K's car. Somehow as I fumbled with my keys getting out of the car quietly as to not disturb the grieving bystanders I must have hit the alarm button. Suddenly my headlights start flashing on the group, accompanied by a honking alarm so loud I am sure could be heard throughout the county. As this was of course the first time I've ever actually heard my own car's alarm go off, I fumbled even more in my panicked state trying to shut the horrible thing up. In what seemed like a full hour, eventually I managed to find the "off" button and the night quickly slipped back into its eerie silence. All eyes were on Nancy Drew at this point, as I shamefully crossed the road to join Dr. K and the two police officers.
The officers and their flashlights greeted Dr. K and then glanced my way as if to ask, "Who's this loon in the detective coat with a honking car?" Dr. K introduced us all and the more senior officer offered to show us into the house. Like a scene right out of CSI the three of us followed the flashlight along the side of the house into the darkened garage. I am quite certain the electricity was working in the house but for some reason the officers refused to touch a single light switch. Perhaps this is part of some protocol for investigations. Whatever the reason it made the whole experience that much more surreal and TV-like. I noticed two Costco-sized containers of kitty litter next to the doorway into the house and some yet-to-be-done laundry sitting on top of the washing machine already separated into lights and darks.
The dining room and kitchen were surprisingly clean and too domestic for the scene that they hid behind. The flashlight lit up a plate of half-eaten frozen pizza next to an empty Totino's box. It looked like the home of a nice young couple. Matching dish towels hung from the oven door and like your refrigerator, magnets plastered photos of babies and drunken friends on summer boats, coupons and reminder notes. One note read, "Be home Saturday, Love you."
There was a single light on in the blackened house leaving no doubt to which room the body lie. I slowly became aware of music playing softly in the background. I hadn't noticed at first maybe because the sad Johnny Cash song filling the room was so utterly appropriate for the scene that maybe I expected it to be playing. If the officer had not turned it off I would think I had imagined it.
We filed into the small room where the body lie crumpled and face-down in a lake of deep red blood. A handgun lay beside the man as if it too had given up. Bits of gray tissue and red droplets adorned the otherwise white office walls. I've seen dead bodies before. I've been in the room while people have gasped their last breaths. I expected to be more stunned by the body, the blood and the bits of brain across the room. But examining the body just seemed so factual, so unemotional and scientific. We discussed the likely path of the bullet and examined the shell and the hole in the wall, with the smear of blood leading to the crumpled fellow on the floor.
Dr. K took notes and checked off boxes on a pre-printed form for such occasions. The second officer joined us and they took pictures and re-examined the scene. I stood carefully trying to avoid stepping in blood, brain or skull fragments, and looked at the framed wedding photos with tiny dots of red across the glass and favorite novels in a nearby bookshelf. Such a normal life it all appeared to have been.
An officer brought in two pieces of paper and handed to the doctor, "A two page, single-spaced, typed suicide note," he said raising his eyebrow indicating this was not the norm. Dr. K read the first page and then handed it to me to read. I had no desire to read it but because it seemed to be expected of me I reluctantly took the page in my hand. Any emotion I did not feel upon gazing on the ghastly room was saved for the note. For two whole pages a young man apologized for what he had done to his family and friends. He acknowledged the selfishness of his actions that night and apologized for the lifetime of hurt he was causing. He wrote of how much he loved and appreciated each of his friends, taking the time to individually address them and remind them of their good times together- high school, the recent fishing trip, and working on cars together. He proclaimed his love and amazement of his beautiful wife and begged her for forgiveness. The world had become too burdensome for him. He had lost his hope entirely and could not bear to continue on in a world continuously threatening doom. Claiming he had lived a fulfilling life at age 29, he had decided he was "checking out."
Feeling tears well up in my eyes, I turned back into the kitchen. I didn't want the officers or even Dr. K to see that Nancy Drew was upset. Inconspicuously I dabbed the corners of my eyes and breathed in deep and long. I looked around the kitchen and abruptly locked eyes with a cat hiding behind a vase on the dining room table. It sat with all of its paws tucked in and hidden by its tail wrapped around like a duck floating in a pond, it seemed to float on the table.
More voices came in through the garage and soon the funeral home director and his son were tromping through the house with a body bag. The cat looked over at them and back at the officers now standing in the kitchen. I stepped out of the way and stood next to the table. "Hi kitty," I quietly said. It looked up at me with a face mixed of fear and understanding as if it had been expecting this night all along. I wanted to pick it up and hide it in my trench coat. But I remembered the Costco kitty litter and knew someone would be around soon enough to change its litter box and scratch its chin. Life has a way of moving on despite its tragedies. Just like the river after a season of flooding. It might take on a new path, diverting and diverging as a result of the changes forced upon it, but still it is the same river moving towards the ocean.
