Sunday the 15th

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic


"Bye, mom," she said as she headed out the door. "Love you!" She was going on her first formal date with a young soldier. Valentine's Day and so romantic for her. It didn't end the way we thought
it would.

Submitted: September 10, 2018

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Submitted: September 10, 2018

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Sunday the 15th
 

It's been 238 weeks and 12 hours since I walked into that cold room and saw her for the second to last time.  She lay there as if she were sleeping... so long as I ignored the tube sticking out of her mouth, the slicked back hair, the blood drying in a nostril. 

 

She was cool to the touch except on her neck.  Her neck was still warm.  I remember waiting to feel it pulse beneath my fingers, praying for it to pulse, for her to wake up.  The priest went about his business and I chattered nonstop, not remembering what I said and probably not making any sense. 

 

I waited for her sisters to come, but while I had her to myself, I looked everywhere; touched everywhere.  I've wondered about that... why they let me do that.  On TV, people are never allowed to touch before autopsy so as not to contaminate.  But they let me and at the time I was glad. 

 

I kissed her, looked her over, petted her, loved on her, but I couldn't hug her.  And I lifted her eyelids and looked longingly into her big doe eyes... eyes that used to sparkle and dance in mischievous laughter.  The blood had pooled so that the whites of her eyes were bluish. 

There was a bloody pinprick in her arm.  I've wondered about that, too.  If it was part of resuscitation efforts.  There's nothing documented about it. 

 

But what bothers me most, to this day, is lack of accurate time of death.  Papers reported she was dead at 3:30a, Death Certificate states 4:00a.  Asked my NP if it was standard to take a liver temp.  She said, "Only on TV."  And they do, on TV.  Give time of death just about every time.

 

What the papers and courts didn't hear about or want to know about or ignored or whatever it is they did to determine such an injustice was that if she'd been made to leave when curfew hit, or if they attempted to make her leave, then any problems would've been caught.  Curfew was 2:00a.  And if they couldn't rouse her, they could've called the ambulance and she'd be alive today.

 

Getting ready to turn 21 years old instead of sitting in the pretty urn on my bookshelf.

But no.  No.  They said she trespassed.  And blamed it all on her.  As if she'd flown in on her broomstick.As if she wasn't on video handing over her ID while sitting in the front seat of a truck.  Bouncing.  She was bouncing in that video.  Very awake.  Very aware. 

 

She hated drugs.  The papers never reported that either. 

 

Two hundred thirty-eight weeks.  And twelve and a half hours.


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