I also wanted to say something about how the bodies were disposed.
Throught the years, I’ve had to do chest compressions, open chests wide open, put my hand in someone’s bleeding neck in the hospital cafeteria while they were dying, hold a dying baby, deal with their families.Being yelled out, grabbed, pushed . I’ve dealt with death before it happens, while it happens and its aftermath. It has never, never been easy. To see someone’s life slipping away. Eyes getting glassy, pale skin, cold body. Life just ending, just like that.
I can’t remember a single time I didn’t feel bad about the patient. I’ve alway feel inclined to respect the person, their bodies, their belongings. There’s never been an ill mean comment, a joke. Never. The opposite, just sadness, need to keep going, to help them out.
I just cannot understand how someone whose child just got murdered is capable of packing their bodies, driving for hours and throwing them like garbage into a tank full of oil. It is just such an odd reaction to panic and pain. To me it’s so telling, and sad.