thu posted: Thu 2018-09-27 06:33:30 tags: n/a
protein bar and caf pill
10am dept. mtg, now with more muffins (but no coffee... oops)

Broke away at 1pm to drive over to Wilson PD and disposition stuff. En route I called the locksmith and determined I had enough dox to have the locks re-keyed, so we set up that appt. Also chatted with the cleanup guy and interestingly they offered to (legally of course) break in if I wanted. Deferred that step on the expectation the locksmith would at least get me in to see if I could find homeowner's insurance.

I let the police slate the biohazardous pen, cellphone (flip-type, not a smrtfon), and Ruger pistol for destruction. Leafed through the notebook a bit but stopped so as not to take up the detective's time unnecessarily.

As I stepped outside the police station, I started to choke up. I Googled Episcopal churches in the area and there was St. Timothy's right across the street. I found the office entrance and managed to ask if the chapel was open between sobs, and the rector Rev. Marty sat with me and gave me a BCP turned to Psalm eightysomething, and a box of tissues, and a glass of water, and I sat and wept and read a little and prayed a little. I thought about the significance of sharing a simple glass of water, or any drink really, in the Church. Did Dad partake of Communion that last time he visited Boca? I couldn't remember. When I composed myself, I explained to the priest that I'd been at the PD, and why, and the pertinent things about my father.

She observed that when we're trying to process the very mixed feelings in the wake of the death of an abusive relative, it can be helpful to remember that there was a time when they were innocent - say, two years old. She offered to pray with me and we asked God in Jesus's name to remember Dad, not as the morally culpable and miserable adult, but as the uncorrupted child he must have been at one time. That was a pretty helpful way to look at it, for me. I asked her to relay a small gift to the soup kitchen ministry that had outgrown the parish.

I went to the house to look for the key. There really wasn't that much trash on the back porch to sift through, but it was dirty, damp, some moldy, and we'd seen roaches on our first inspection pass, so I worked gingerly and after about 20 minutes I found it in a little shopping bag by itself. Not a needle in a haystack but not a quick easy find either. Not long after, the locksmith arrived so we re-keyed the front deadbolt and all knobs. I had assumed from my cousin's email that the whole house would stink of death, but I was able to survey most of the inside with no olfactory discomfort. I did decide not to enter the kitchen or look too closely at the remains at the scene. There will be time enough for that. The locksmith said she'd seen much worse. I wouldn't want to do the scene cleanup myself but it shouldn't necessitate any tearing out of wallboard, maybe a floor re-tile. Hefted a big trash bag full into the trash bin, and left with gathered docs and keys.