The Speech

There are times when my job is cool, and there are times when it is not. Teaching, helping people, seeing a person’s face when they get something that was stolen from the back, cool.

Other stuff is not so cool, but has a way of letting you reflect on life as it screams past you at warp speed leaving you caught up in the “seemingly” important and being able to justify it by saying to oneself, everything else will be there tomorrow.

Moments ago I had a woman come to the window of our office. I’ve spoken to her before, and from first glance taken by my highly trained eye, I was able to tell that she was there on the account that someone she loved dearly had died, and she had come to retrieve their personal belongings. It’s a kind of grayish, hollow look, with a stone face but an expression like they are bracing themselves for some form of catastrophe, but trying to be brave in the face of such circumstances. A couple of years working homicide and unexplained deaths will give a person that much unwanted ability. The first time I had spoken to her, I was unable to grant her wish, but made every effort to help her in as kind a way as possible. During this effort, I learned that her daughter had died a sudden and violent death, the kind, in all honesty, which would leave parents with millions of unanswered question, and making closure a near impossibility.
I assured her that her daughter’s things would be kept here until I personally gave them to her, and that the detective would contact her as soon as we could release them.

She showed up today.

It took me a moment to remember her, but once I did, I knew that the detective had not come down to release the items, and I did not want to send this fragile being back into the world empty handed with no weapons with which to battle her demons. I spoke with her briefly, explained to her the situation, and began calling the detective. Finally getting in touch with her, I was given clearance to return the daughters items to the mother. I flew back to the window with the minimally uplifting news, and then went to work gathering the items up for her.

Clothes, disks, backpacks, a cell phone, all very non descript items that are taken for granted every day would soon be clutched as the last physical items that would represent her daughters life for this woman, hopefully bringing closure to her.

As I packaged her daughter’s thing for her so that she could carry them to her car easier, I realized that, from the mother’s perspective, she would be carrying her daughter out of the building in two brown paper sacks.

I had her sign for the belongings, and had to explain to her that the items would still be in the state that they were collected at the scene the night of the accident, and to prepare herself for what might be inside. Sadly, a speech that I have had to give several times, but does not get easier with repetition. A tear welled up as she thanked me, and then she left.

I hope it brought her closure. I hope it brought her peace.

Strangely enough, this comes one day after I had a chance to put in a transfer for a job that I have formerly performed, and dearly loved. I declined to do so, with a personal opinion that I was needed where I was. (But for what, I was not sure, until today.)