The awkward vibe coming off of people is, well, I guess awkward for both of us.
Them and me.
It started at the police station. This is a small town, a small Bible Belt town. Everyone… and I mean everyone, knows everybody.
I walked in and told them I was there for the keys they took and to sign off for the gun to disappear.
The lady behind the glass told me to “hold on, we’ll be right with you.”
A side door to the room opened and four…four… Police officers came through the door. They stood there looking at us. The one in front said, “Can we help you?”
I told them why we were there. That we were told by the coroner that they had the keys. I told them my Dads name.
The one in front did not shift. He was older and held his ground. The three behind him all shifted, looked down, and the energy wave that came from them was overwhelming awkward.
One had his arms crossed when he came through, but when I dropped Dads name, he looked to the side, visibly relaxed a little and dropped his arms. They could not make eye contact with me though.
Head officer told me they would be right back and they would see about the keys. My sister popped up with, “Is there a police report and can we have a copy?”
Head guy says “yes, be right back.” Then they collectively went back through the door.
They were uncomfortable. They saw Dad. They saw. Now that mans daughters are standing in there.
About 10 minutes later, a young, maybe 25 year old officer, came out to talk with us.
He was not awkward. He was very straight up and talked to us as though we were not that mans daughters.
He was graphic. He answered every question we had. We had graphic questions. He answered.
I welcomed that like ice tea on a hot day. It felt good to get the unanswered questions my sister and I had answered to the best that he could.
I looked at him though. He’s so young. I felt bad for him. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” I said.
It was the only time his energy shifted and there was a second his eyes changed in a flash, was it sadness? Horror? And he pulled it back as fast as it washed over him.
He gave us the police report and let us know they did not have the keys and wished us well.
Side note: I am obsessed with the police report. I can’t seem to stop reading it. I think that might be weird, who knows.
We found out after another call to the coroner that they were actually the ones that had the keys. So off we go to the next town up to retrieve them.
We walked in and another coroner -not the one I kept calling like a stalker-came out to greet us, asking if he could help us.
I gave him my dads name and I might as well have shoved him in the chest the way he stepped back and eyes widened. I told him we were told they had his keys.
He looked at the ceiling and then out a window and hurriedly said he would go look.
Is it the circumstances? Is it that awkward to stand in front of someone that lost a family member by their own hands? Maybe.
Is it the condition the body is in? The funeral home by this time was really adamant about the condition.
He could not be embalmed. The smell was bad, even at the coroners. He could not be brought into the funeral home, the body would smell through the casket so no visitation even with a closed casket.
Basically, he had to be picked up from the corner, put into casket, put into ground at cemetery.
So this guy, and the two standing behind him, the energy shift from all was immediate and weird.
Now I’m home. A week now I’ve been home. A few people know how he passed.
They don’t even know what to say. I can tell it’s too much for them so I don’t reach out.
I don’t anyway in my life, not really. I just smile and make sure people around me are ok.
This is a lot. This is a lot to carry.
It’s so fucking heavy.
My husband has been great though. But I can tell it’s too much for him too.
When he got down there that Monday, he knew he had to fix what I did to the door. I kicked the fuck out of that door.
“Send me a picture of the door so I know what tools to bring.”
And he did. Door is fixed now. He also pulled up the laminate flooring in the living room and cut the carpet out of the dining room and bedroom. (That was a nightmare too, I know I’ll have to write that one out.)
Husband had his own moment when he pulled up the flooring. I could see it affect him and I tried to take it away from him. Immediately rushing for the gloves and bucket and telling him to get out of the house.
But my sister and I looked at each other and just smiled a sad smile. Because what was left under that flooring was absolutely nothing compared to what we tackled the day before they got there.
But even now he is awkward about it all. Just telling me to rest and I can feel he does not really want me to talk about it. I get it, I do. But it would be so nice to not feel that awkward vibe with him too. He is being very kind, but he also does the look away, the energy shift, the awkward vibe.
It’s so heavy. I can carry it. I think.
I think I can.
I know I can.
I miss him. I miss my dad. He was my first hero.
There was no one there. Just my sister and I. No one to celebrate his life in anyway. It was so sad.
Would it be different if it had been from a sickness? Time to let go and know it was coming? Would people around me be more empathetic instead of awkward? I don’t know.
I’m forever changed from this.