My long night had just begun. I was in shock and it was difficult to focus on the myriad of questions that came from the EMTs, medical examiner and policemen that entered our home. After two years, it's difficult to recall the precise order of events. Truthfully, it was such a blur even the next day. I do remember answering a lot of the same questions in separate interviews with at least three different individuals, and I'm certain that two of those were policemen. I realize that they were only doing their job. After all, many people are caught harming or killing others on a daily basis. I just couldn't help but feel as if I was on trial.
At one point later in the night, after answering the same questions to yet another person, I paced up and down the front sidewalk. Suddenly I felt ill and dropped to my hands and knees on the concrete, at the mercy of dry heaves. When I felt able to stand, I looked around to see if anyone was looking at me, and all I could think was "Would a cold blooded murderer look so pathetic?" In the end, I didn't actually care what they thought. I wanted to know what had happened, and enduring the seemingly endless questions was the quickest way to move the process forward. At least, that was my hope.
At some point I realized that I needed to contact our families. It was late, but it wasn't the middle of the night. It was probably around midnight. I first tried to call Melinda's mother, Jean, but no one answered, so I had to leave a voicemail. I have no idea how I sounded, but I let her know that she needed to call me ASAP. I can only imagine what she thought when she heard my message.
I then called my parents in Arizona. My father answered the phone and through sobbing I tried to say those impossible words, "Melinda is dead." I remember the sound of Dad's voice as we spoke about what was happening. I can hear it in my head and it's still a great comfort when I think back on it. It seems a little silly to me, as I've always known him to be a loving and caring father. I suppose it made such an impression because that was the lowest point in my life and I simply needed that compassion so badly. My father endured a lot in his life, including losing both brothers to suicide when they were young adults, so he knows about loss firsthand and I'm sure it broke his heart to know that I was experiencing such a loss.
I don't remember if I had a chance to talk with my mother on that first call, although I shared many conversations with both of them over the next few weeks. My mother has always been a wonderful source of comfort and compassion in my life. I suppose that's fairly common as women are typically seen as more nurturing than men, but I have always felt like I could tell her anything. She's also one of the strongest women I've ever known. Around 1999, Mom had to deal with losing William (her father), Jerry (her only sibling), and Billy (her oldest child and my brother). I'm not sure how she was able to process it all. In the coming year, I would have to deal with a deluge of losses, but none as heart breaking as she had endured.
I believe I had to excuse myself from that first call to my parents because Jean was calling me back. Telling my parents about Melinda was difficult, but I could hardly form the words as Jean asked me what was wrong. How do you tell a parent they've lost their child? I had lost my beloved wife, but Jean had lost her daughter. Melinda and I never had children, so I doubt I can truly understand how that must feel. We spoke briefly because at that point I didn't actually have much information and she lived only a few minutes away. She and Melinda's Uncle Paul came over and we comforted each other as official business buzzed all around us. It felt like the night was never going to end. Eventually, someone from the medical examiner's office came and took Melinda's body from the bedroom. It still felt like a bad dream, but the reality began to sink in as her body was wheeled out the door, never to return.
Jean was great. She seemed stronger than I was in dealing with Melinda's loss, but Melinda usually handled herself well under pressure, which is something she must have gotten from her mother. Even though Jean was reeling from the loss, she was determined for the longest time to stay with me to make sure I was okay. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I convinced her to go home and get some rest and that I would try to do the same. I went back to the bed where my wife passed hours before and I laid down. I hugged her pillow, which still had her scent, and I cried myself to sleep. My worst night was finally over. Tomorrow I would start my education in dealing with death.
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