Knocking On Doors – Not What You Expect

One of the really great things about following someone’s blog is that you actually learn about them as a person. Through the sharing of life experiences, we actually get to know about what makes people tic… and toc. This is one of those moments.

I spent twenty years of my life as a death investigator. Yes, CSI/Quincy sort of stuff. As a Deputy Coroner, I investigated and determined the cause and manner of hundreds of people’s demise. Natural, accident, homicide and suicide. Those are the only classifications existing as to the “manner” of a death. Well, and the “unknowns/undetermined”. I investigated all of these.

I began this journey in my life in January of 1988. A few days later, I was standing over the body of a sixteen year old kid who was the younger brother of a very good high school friend. He had been killed in an auto collision. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was about to throw my badge and ID into the nearby field and say, “Screw this”. But I didn’t. I stuck with it. It was difficult. I went through the entire process of scene investigation, interviewing a few witnesses, photos, scene sketches, body recovery, autopsy, funeral and going to the family’s house after the funeral.

My high school friend saw me at the hospital the night of the incident and came up to me crying and kept apologizing to me. I was confused because I had no clue why he was apologetic to me. He said he was sorry that I had to go through this the situation. Well, that certainly didn’t help in my efforts to try to maintain composure. It wasn’t about me. This family suffered a tremendous loss and here he was apologizing to me. Talk about a heart of gold.

On another mid-Summer day several years later, I was called out on another auto collision involving a death. This gentleman had lost control, driven off the road and through a sign encased in concrete block and stone and flipped a few times. He was dead on the scene.

Through the scene investigation and a few phone calls we discovered that the deceased had an elderly father at home. A Sheriff’s Deputy and myself drove over to the father’s residence to give notification of the death. Both of us were dreading the knock but somebody had to do it. Seven raps on the door. No response. Seven more knocks, but a little harder. Still no response. Now, we are looking into windows and seeing some movement inside the house. Finally, the old man made his way to the front door. He had slowly gone to the back door because that is where he thought the knock originated. It just took him a while to get back to the front of the house as his later years had slowed him down quite a bit. Picture Tim Conway as that “old guy” character on Carol Burnett. Yeah, that slow.

The man looked at me (in plain clothes) and at the uniformed Deputy Sheriff as if we were from another planet. I began the process of asking questions to determine if we were in the right spot and talking with the right man. After introducing myself and the Deputy, my first question was, “Is there anyone else here with you?” He said he was alone at the moment but he was waiting for his son to return from running errands. The man spoke slowly and with a hint of confusion in his voice. I believe that was his normal state.

I asked his son’s name. He told me. It matched the name of the occupant of the car. I asked what make and model of car his son drives. That matched too.

I knew I was quickly approaching the time that I would just have to tell the man that his son wasn’t coming home, ever. I had all of the information and confirmation that I needed. I took a deep breath and explained to him what had happened. I still had not said that his son was dead. Blurting that out was not my style. When a Sheriff and a Coroner come knocking on the door, most of the time you don’t have to even say much about what, only who.

This man wasn’t catching on. He would listen, nod, answer questions but still was not picking up on exactly what was going on. Finally, I just had to spell it out for him. I told him that his son had an accident and was killed in the wreck. There. Done. I told him. But he still didn’t get it. He looked at me and asked, “You say he’s dead?”

I said, “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

We went through this over a dozen times. I had given these types of notifications many, many times. But never this many times in one visit. The Sheriff had gone outside to make calls to try to get somebody there at the house to be with this man. There was no way we were leaving him there alone. We had asked him over and over if there was someone we could call to come to be with him and he kept asking, “You say he’s dead?” It was heart breaking.

Finally, a neighbor walked over and ask what was going on. Normally, the nosey neighbors are a pain in the rear, but this worked out very well. The neighbor offered to stay with the man until the old man’s daughter could arrive in about two hours. I verified with the father of the deceased that he knew and trusted his neighbor. He did, so all was well there.

Three and a half hours after our initial knock on the door we were leaving the man’s house. He still hadn’t gotten it. I thanked the neighbor over and over for offering his assistance. We left.

Are you familiar with the statement, “That which does not kill us only makes us stronger”? Well, need I say more? GO DO!™

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