My eyes fell on his pale face. I knew his story. I knew what happened.
If I stop, if I slow my mind just enough to clear some space I can think back to when it happened. I can feel the adrenaline, the knot in my stomach, the hairs on my arms stand up. I can relive my panic.
I didn't cry, I didn't yell, I didn't gasp. After all, that was someones loved one (someones young loved one) and I didn't want to be disrespectful. I did walk calmly to the washroom and stay there for awhile, pacing back and forth, deciding what I should do. I was shaking and breathing hard. Blue was waiting for me. In order to get back to him I needed to walk back beside the open coffin.
I have a 'thing' with bodies. I also have a 'thing' with blood...and broken bones and things that should be inside the body being outside of the body. They freak me out. I get all squeamish and uncomfortable. It's not that I've had a bad experience, or maybe it's that I've had no experience, but it's something that I just know about myself. We took some pre-natal courses when I was pregnant with The Boy and I couldn't even watch the video's of mom's delivering their babies. Blue was totally fine with it and there I was, the pregnant lady, hiding behind my husband. I know it's so pathetic but I just can't help it. There are a few professions that I could never in a millions years tackle, policing is one of them. Too much blood, too much gore.
I ended-up leaving the Ladies Room and making my way back to the office. I turned my head and kept my eyes down and then booked it out of the church. I was shaken-up for a long time afterwards.
I admire people who have jobs that deal with these things on a daily basis.