I stood at the viewing room window at the morgue staring into the empty room. The door into the viewing room opened and two orderlies pushed a table with a cloth draped body into the room. The screen beside the window I stood before came on as the first orderly lowered the sheet covering the face. I stared blankly at the face showing clearly on the screen.
My eyes traced the nose, the mouth, the high forehead with dull brown hair brushed back. It was both Stephen and it was not Stephen. My brother had died to me many years ago. The bright eyed, curious, engaging person died when he became addicted to Methamphetamines. The pale, thin face with protruding cheekbones and sunken cheeks, the sunken eyes and scabs all over his face, that person wasn’t my loving brother.
Still staring at the screen I spoke to the policeman standing beside me. “Yes” I said “That is Stephen Carpenter”. I turned to leave the viewing room and turned back to the policeman. “But that person he isn’t the person he once was.” as a tear rolled down my face. “And now he never can be.”
