08/01/2013

   It was getting closer to the time for us to go to the mortuary. The visitation was scheduled from 6-8, but they had told us we could come a little earlier if we wanted some time to ourselves with Curtis before they allowed anyone else in. I was getting more and more agitated as the time drew near. I was feeling very conflicted about the whole thing. I was fearful and anxious about seeing my son in that state, but at the same time, I felt like I needed to see him. I needed to know what he looked like. As crazy as it sounds, I needed to know he was "all right." The clock was ticking and people were still not all ready to go. I felt like I was going to lose my mind right then and there before we even got to the mortuary. Finally, everyone was ready to go. As we parked in the parking lot, I could see there were already other cars parked. I thought, "Oh, no. We're already too late." Sure enough as we walked inside the chapel, some of my wife's relatives came to greet us. and told us how "good" Curtis looked. I could suddenly feel the anger rising. I loved these people, but how dare they be the first ones to see my son? I'd just endured the worst six days of my life.
I wanted to see Curtis first. Didn't I deserve that much? Now, even that had been taken away. I couldn't speak out of fear that anything I said during those moments would be completely inappropriate and would take away from the real reason we were all there in the first place-to remember and honor my precious son. My wife and I held onto each other as we walked down the aisle to the front of the chapel where Curtis's casket awaited. I don't know that I'd ever before felt what I was feeling at that moment: dread, anticipation, fear, anxiety, despair, hope-all rolled into one package. Could I do this? After all this time, would I be able to look upon my son's body without losing what was left of my mind? I was about to find out.