THE FIRST FIVE DAYS III
Day Five:
The funeral.
I was questioned by police at the funeral home. Sitting on a bier, maybe 50' from
Karen's body, they told me they could verify my alibi--that I had been at work in
Huntsville all day Friday. They asked me if it was possible Karen was having an affair.
I said no. The police took video of the mourners, and were present throughout the
service. I was glad they were there. It made us feel safe.
The thing I remember most about the funeral--other than having one child on each
hand--was the music. Donny Osmond and Celine Dion. Karen's favorites, and the little
girls' choice for their mother.
I was taken from there to Roselawn for the burial.
When the burial was done, a Storm Chaser truck pulled out from the next lot. My
friends asked me not to read the paper. I didn't. I had more important things on my
mind.
Every minute that passed had thoughts about how Karen had died--how she had
suffered. I wanted the killer caught--NOW. Friends were calling me, telling me how
upset they were about the Decatur Daily's tacky articles. I told them not to worry--that
I wasn't reading the paper, I wasn't watching TV, and that the girls and I were being
very well-taken care of...
I was putting one foot in front of the other. And trying to make decisions...like what to
do with the house. Like what to do with my practice. Like what to do with my
children. Wondering at what point I'd be able to concentrate enough to drive. I had a
thousand things to do, and I didn't know how to do any of them.
It was about this time I sat down and wrote out my first "treatment plan."
I sent for three people.
I asked SK to visit, and bring his guitar.
I asked ST to visit, and bring his prescription pad.
And I asked BP to visit, and bring his Bible.
I had to hold onto things when I walked to avoid falling.
I was unfazed by 4mg of Ativan...when ordinarily 1/2 mg would have knocked me out.
I was overwhelmed...overloaded...and running on adrenaline.
I was on Channel One. Every minute.
I was fearful for my life and the lives of my children.
And I began to think of the press as vultures--or gargoyles, maybe--stalking me and
attacking me...
Was it really too much to ask? To be allowed some privacy and dignity at such a time
of catastrophic grief?????
I wondered... are they NOT HUMAN????
All this time I could see Karen's mutilated corpse, superimposed over whatever I was
seeing... like picture-in-picture on TV... all day and all night.
The scariest thing of all to me now, writing this, is that the only thing that's changed in
Decatur in the past four years is me. Pretty much everything else is the same.
Everything is normal.
The funeral.
I was questioned by police at the funeral home. Sitting on a bier, maybe 50' from
Karen's body, they told me they could verify my alibi--that I had been at work in
Huntsville all day Friday. They asked me if it was possible Karen was having an affair.
I said no. The police took video of the mourners, and were present throughout the
service. I was glad they were there. It made us feel safe.
The thing I remember most about the funeral--other than having one child on each
hand--was the music. Donny Osmond and Celine Dion. Karen's favorites, and the little
girls' choice for their mother.
I was taken from there to Roselawn for the burial.
When the burial was done, a Storm Chaser truck pulled out from the next lot. My
friends asked me not to read the paper. I didn't. I had more important things on my
mind.
Every minute that passed had thoughts about how Karen had died--how she had
suffered. I wanted the killer caught--NOW. Friends were calling me, telling me how
upset they were about the Decatur Daily's tacky articles. I told them not to worry--that
I wasn't reading the paper, I wasn't watching TV, and that the girls and I were being
very well-taken care of...
I was putting one foot in front of the other. And trying to make decisions...like what to
do with the house. Like what to do with my practice. Like what to do with my
children. Wondering at what point I'd be able to concentrate enough to drive. I had a
thousand things to do, and I didn't know how to do any of them.
It was about this time I sat down and wrote out my first "treatment plan."
I sent for three people.
I asked SK to visit, and bring his guitar.
I asked ST to visit, and bring his prescription pad.
And I asked BP to visit, and bring his Bible.
I had to hold onto things when I walked to avoid falling.
I was unfazed by 4mg of Ativan...when ordinarily 1/2 mg would have knocked me out.
I was overwhelmed...overloaded...and running on adrenaline.
I was on Channel One. Every minute.
I was fearful for my life and the lives of my children.
And I began to think of the press as vultures--or gargoyles, maybe--stalking me and
attacking me...
Was it really too much to ask? To be allowed some privacy and dignity at such a time
of catastrophic grief?????
I wondered... are they NOT HUMAN????
All this time I could see Karen's mutilated corpse, superimposed over whatever I was
seeing... like picture-in-picture on TV... all day and all night.
The scariest thing of all to me now, writing this, is that the only thing that's changed in
Decatur in the past four years is me. Pretty much everything else is the same.
Everything is normal.