Death surrounds me.
It always has.
I grew up as a pathologist... like my dad.
He tucked me into bed with the story of his latest autopsy.
That was my bedtime story.
And I, too, grew up to tell my kids autopsy stories - usually during driver's ed.
But death has never been so personal to me.
In the 10 days since my Dad's death, it feels more personal when I'm called to investigate a death.
I can feel the family's pain - the loss - the sorrow.
To clear my head, I visit The Land.
The Land always brings me peace and joy.
Last week they were begging for food.
Only one baby bird is left.
I take several pictures before I realize - he is not moving.
My baby bluebird is dead.
I walk The Land.
There is no joy - the flowers of spring have passed.
The sky is a dull flat blue - no puffy clouds, no play of light on blossoms.
Head down, I drive back to see my family in Fishers.
I'm sure they didn't mean to let my flowers die.
But there in the center of our table stand dead tulips - sent in memory of my dear father.
How can I shake this off - this feeling that death is all around me?
Friday I bike.
I visit Frank.
I come home.
KC is waiting for me with pictures of the latest event at Brixton.
The visit of vultures.
What can I do?