The Sad Truth

The sad truth is that real life is more horrifying than anything that can be dreamed up in the movies. As a news reporter I lived a life that brought me way to close for comfort to brutal crime scenes, grieving families, the inside of jail cells and cold, hard, truth. There's nothing like the feeling of standing feet from a body covered by a tarp. There is nothing like the self-loathing you feel when a family who has just lost a loved one screams at you to get the camera out of their faces. It was unbearable at times. And yet, it was my job. And it was one that I was passionate about. The fact is, if it wasn't me, it would be someone else. Where there is news, there are cameras, microphones and reporters on a mission.
Perhaps, one of my most profound moments in my brief career as a news reporter, came in the driveway of the home of a family whose 14 year old daughter had been murdered by a neighbor. We had gone to the arraigment of the boy, who was also a teenager. Then, as scheduled, we went to the home to meet with the young victim's dad. I can't even describe the feeling I had in my stomach. The dad had agreed to meet with me, and yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being horribly invasive and disrespectful. As a reporter, you are not supposed to show emotion, but it was all I could do to not cry along with him. He asked not to be filmed, so my photographer recorded photos of his beautiful daughter instead. I sat with him for probably about 40 minutes, the whole time my stomach was clenched in a knot. The victim's mother was in the kitchen with her sister, still so grief stricken that she could not speak. Her father told us what an amazing person she was. Her likes and dislikes, her plans for the future. Then he told us about that horrible day. I can hear the details like it was yesterday. We brought the interview to an end, and we quietly packed up our gear and left. I sat in the passenger seat of the news car and took a deep breath, trying to ease the knot I felt, all the while fighting back tears. My photographer, who had been in the industry for over 20 years, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Are you okay?". I turned and asked, "Does it ever get easier?". He looked at me, shook his head and said, "I hope not." That was it. So simple, yet so profound. Because the fact is, over time, you do become numb. You find yourself standing at the scene of a house fire where a victim is missing, joking around with the other members of the media. Not because you're trying to be rude, or not realizing the impact of the situation, but because you've seen it before. And because if every time you responded to a scene, you allowed yourself to feel the truth of what is really happening, you couldn't possibly survive day after day of it. I survived almost two years. Long enough to see the young girl's killer plead guilty and be sentenced. I felt protective of that case and would never let another reporter in my station cover it. I felt that the best thing I could possibly do, in the position I was in, was to let the world know what a beautiful and bright life was lost. I hope I did that.
The reason this is all in the forefront of my mind is because of the brutal crime scene in Milton, Massachusetts today. I saw the coverage and have read the articles. I know one of my friends who is a photographer for a local station was there, camera rolling, when the parents came home and found out that three of their children were dead. I felt the knot in my stomach again, watching the footage of the mother fall to the ground screaming. And I felt so glad that it wasn't me standing there, microphone in hand, capturing that moment. It's all just too real.