It was then that we heard for the first time those six heart-wrenching words: "Your son died at the scene." The coroner went on to express his condolences, but I don't really remember hearing his words any longer. I'd heard the only words that mattered. "Your son died at the scene." The room seemed to go entirely black. I remember a scream of disbelief coming out of my mouth. I remember my wife looking at me like I was crazy. She said later that she wondered what was wrong with me because there had to be some mistake. It couldn't possibly be true. Our son could not be dead. It didn't even occur to me at the time to be angry about the charade that we had been put through by the police. Our son had never even been transported to any hospital. They had known all along that he had already died. We were kept in the dark all that time, hoping against hope that what we feared the most could not possibly be true. We found out later that they were following department procedures because they were not prepared for any of the parents to show up at the scene and question what was going on. No one at the scene was authorized to tell us what had really happened. All I knew at this time was that if this news were true everything-absolutely EVERYTHING-large and small in my life had just changed forever.