Death of any kind I imagine is painful , but death by murder leaves emotions of all sorts. Murder is a heinous crime that snatches someone’s life away in such a degrading manner and sends pain to every person who loved that soul. The painstaking visions that ignite the brain of blaring gunshots penetrating flesh as bullets embed themselves in the one we loved and destroys the physical body only leaving the soul to exist . The day I scrolled down facebook exhausted from cooking dinner and an evening at ” The bounce house” with my four children waiting for daddy to get off of work , as we headed home after a quick stop at the grocery store. I watched as the kids licked barbque off their fingers and threw chunks of broccolli on the floor, so I sat down to breath for a split second. As I scrolled past the agnozing and annoying Facebook posts I came across a news feed from the local News channel ” Unidentified 33 year old man pronounced dead from gunshot wounds” ,Well you know the rest. I loaded up my children faster than ever and ran to find and check on daddy . Well it was him and Just that fast he was gone.My children watched as I screamed and rolled on the ice cold ground in the dead of winter. My body was numb. I couldn’t think and didn’t think. When death hits you , you don’t get a chance to think. I never thought to go see his body. I had never lost anyone so I didn’t even consider it. The dark days began and then I met him ” The funeral director” . He stood tall with his fancy suit and shiny shoes , I didn’t get the feeling he cared at all he was just doing his job. He spoke about the expenses, then attempted to share his compassion. I watched as he tried to be the mediator between feuding family. He stuck out to me and I’ll never forget him. I refused to see my loved one in a state like that but my six years old sons insisted so we choose to see him privately. The funeral director wanted more money so he held his body longer than he should’ve until the insurance came through, well the day my sons saw daddy’s body , it emitted a god awful smell that filled the funeral home. The smitten funeral director sprayed air freshener and insisted it was ok to see him. My sons slowly approached and I stayed behind. I watched my sons faces as they walked up to see daddy ” why is his face white and why is he sweating my son asked ” ? I could not look up I didn’t want to remember him like that. The funeral director escorted us out as we walked away in dismay. I met with the funeral director shortly after and asked how many times was he shot. He looked at me and stated” you know what I couldn’t even tell , when I was dressing him I didn’t see a thing, I don’t know”. He handed me a pen to sign paper work as he increased the price of the funereal $1000 bucks. He was murdered and this smug funeral director could hardly care as he counted the cash he was so patiently waiting on . Damian has now been gone four months and he was brutallay murdered as someone shot him 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 times. The sweetest man you would ever meet, not a person in the world could share a bad story about him. Why his death certificate stated one shot to the torso, still puzzles me. I’ll never forget the funeral director , these memories cloud my mind. His body was just a body. Our pain was just our pain. He closed the casket as the last person knowing what truly happened to him. When you live near crime ridden areas and crime is around many corners and makes you aware of every minute decision it matters. When youth are troubled and misguided and when televison displays nothing but agitated , disgrutulted and disturbed citizens that blare violent words and respond with nothing but savage actions it matters. When your local police force deals with a vast amount of murders daily , lacks emotion and care because of the ongoing amount of crime and when he became just another number it matters. When law enforcement hasn’t found one lead and when an innocent, caring, loving, devoted father, hard worker, mentor, and team dad is slain in the street and left to die and finally when a man bleeds to death as his family wonders where he is it matters.After the shots ring and the doctors stop trying and when his fight is over and the news is delivered to the woman that loved him as she is on her knees and her warm tears drench her face covering her body, her cold withered hands hold up her face in disbelief as her head is hung low and she throws her head back to scream into the dark skies just to look up to see her two 6 year old twin boys and her 1 year old twins starring back at her with their big ,beady, black , patruding glossy eyes lost in confusion as your oldest son says ” mommy why are you crying, where’s daddy?”that’s when those shots matter even more, they tell a story , a Story to help find the person who committed the murder. The funeral director took his hankerchief , as he apologized for my loss and excused himself at our last meeting . He then answered the phone , covered the phone with his hand and whispered ” this is another death” , as he continued to do his job. We still remember the funeral director.What we take from this is that funeral directors dont truly feel our pain, its impossible. We all experience pain as well as grief different so understanding is used loosely when dealing with the loss of a loved one. As funeral directors they are in the business of helping you grieve peacefully. We may find ways to direct our frustrations and emotions after death like my anger towards him but they’re only attempting to protect what they feel will cause more pain. We encounter more battles than just the death itself and its almost like your brain slows down and you become more conscious of everything around you. His death is the beginning of my indivdual journey of self discovery as well as my children. Its not the end. He was an amzaing man and he will live on through us. With every negative comes a positive. Believe that and it will manifest into your life.We will forever love Damian and forever we will remember the “Funeral Director”.