By Dianne Hendricks
“How long ’til the coroner gets here?” I asked the two uniformed men dispatched by the 911 operator.
“Coroner don’t work holidays, Ma’am,” said the taller one. “You touch anything?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you touch your son, officer?”
“Looks like he was cookin’. Any mention of suicide?” asked the secondary, consulting his clipboard.
“He mentioned lots of things. Junkies do that.”
“No need to get snippy, Ma’am. We’re just doing our job.”
So were the psychiatrists, the nurses, and the rehab specialists. The man from the funeral home zipped him into a body bag and wheeled him away.
At last…finally alone…I shattered.
Sad and beautiful.
Sad story, nicely written.
Good story. You were able to put me in her place, physically and emotionally, in so few words.
Great work – very well done.
Very emotional and hard-hitting story, well-written, too.
Thanks so much, everyone. I so appreciate the supportive comments. Dianne