There is not a manual to prepare you for the event that someone you know is violently taken from this world.   Even the advice I am about to write isn't going to be applicable in all situations such as this but I feel that someday, someone might be able to use it.

You will find out in a crappy way.  It’s unavoidable.

Everyone I know that has had something like this happen to someone they knew found out in an unbelievably shitty way.  If my brother hadn't found me, I would have gotten up the next morning at 3 A.M., drove our flat in the ‘burbs where my father and I used to live together, and had seen a policeman's business card pushed into the crack of the door.  Or, one of the reporters that had started stalking around outside would have been the lucky one to tell me.  Thank god I had gotten up so early, as I didn't get a chance to get my cup o' joe, which by the counter where you pay there is the paper rack and my father's face covered the front page of both dailies.

Once you have found out, nothing you will do in the next 12 to 24 hours will seem real and you may not remember anything you did anyway.  After we left the police station we headed straight for our flat.  We all had the one secret our dad told us about something hidden there and we were hell bent on making sure that stuff was cleared out of there.  We got in, got out, and wandered around for a bit in the car.

Assign a point person, preferably one who is sane.

I sat my brother down for a talk.  I told him what I knew (my father entrusted me with everything) and I asked him if I could take the reins for the next few hours.  My brother didn't have the same last name so I figured it would be easy to keep him out of the spotlight of the press, police, and the bad guys lurking around.  The bad guys knew about me, as I was on my father's hip on the weekends and had been introduced to most of them.  I didn't want them screwing with my brother, as it started to seem like the connections in my brother's brain were snapping.

We ended up at the house of my father's best friend.  Sitting around in stunned silence was the first order of business.  None of us could sleep, so we texted friends and watched the news waiting for word of what was going on and to gauge how bad things were going to be in our own lives now that our secret was out.  

Find someone removed from the situation that can help only you.

I called my best friend, who lived overseas.   I choked on the words and asked him to please check on me, because it was starting to look like I was going to handle everything myself.   I started receiving calls from trusted friends who found out by word of mouth, to which I told each of them that I might not be around for a little while.    

My brother finally piped up "We have to go".

Shit.  I forgot about the morgue.

Don't do this. Ever.

Since my father's friends and "business partners" all knew about me, I volunteered to be the point person for all signing of papers, talking to press, and calling the cronies, what have you.  That way my brother could retain his almost unknown status for as long as possible.  

So I signed off on the identification at the morgue.   This is one rule that I hope none of you will ever break.  Never ever be the one to identify the body of someone you love. 

Don't.

Ever.

That 30 second moment will haunt me for the rest of my life.