It’s rather ironic that on the day I posted a blog condemning the media’s whorish tendencies, I spent a good part of the afternoon dealing with that same, whorish media.

When my good friend/paralegal Kathy showed up late to work yesterday, she had quite a story.   Monday night, her doorbell rang.  A police officer asked them when they had last seen their next door neighbors.  Although Kathy lives in an affluent community, this kind of police attention was surprising.  Kathy shared the fact that she had moved three newspapers from the driveway to inside the front door on Saturday.  They found it surprising that one missed school day and three newspapers warranted a police visit.  Even more perplexing was the fact that the police wanted phone numbers of family members.  After providing all the info they could, they said goodnight to the cop, but couldn’t help but notice three police cars and a fire truck in the driveway.

It seemed like police overkill.  Kathy was uneasy.  We agreed they had probably gone on a spontaneous trip.  When there was no answer on the neighbor’s cell phone, Kathy looked up the husband’s office number and tried there.  She left a message for his secretary and we began brainstorming for answers.  I offered witness protection program, she offered Disneyworld.  For the rest of the morning, we joked about places.  At one o’clock the call came in, bad news.  Very bad news.  All four had been found dead in a hotel room in Baltimore. 

Bill, a tax lawyer, his wife Betty, a breast cancer survivor who traded pumpkin pie for pecan pie with Kathy every Thanksgiving.  Their eldest daughter Stephanie, who was just shy of halfway through college.  Kathy’s youngest used to drive to High School daily.  Eleven year old Catherine, sixth grade soccer player; the icing on her mom’s cake.  All dead.  Murder suicide.  No bullet or stab wounds.  No more information.  No who or why.  An entire family gone.  And no answers. 

Kathy was a wreck, understandably so.  It got worse as word got out.  Kathy’s youngest called in hysterics, having learned via text message.  I closed the office and drove over to Kathy’s.  Outside was a media madhouse.  Kathy pulled into the garage and I pulled into the driveway.  I was immediately approached for comment by a newspaper guy but had none.  I asked him, “What do you want to hear, that they were lovely people and this was unexpected?  They were and it was.  But no one here is speaking on the record out of respect for their friends.”  I went into the house, and we sat, talking, pondering, trying to understand.

Realizing my car was blocking the driveway, I went to move it so Kathy’s husband would be able to pull in.  One press person and one tv person approached.  No comment. 

When Brian got home, we tried to process the horror, to no avail.  There are no answers, just too many questions.  The three of us talked, trying to understand, to find a clue.  But we had none.  Even worse, without bullet or stab wounds, the likelihood is that it was premeditated, not just some insane moment of passion.  How does someone get there?  How do you kill your children?

As we sat, trying to understand, the doorbell rang.  I answered it.  There stood two newspaper guys, two tv guys and a photographer.  No comment.  Please go away.

Our conversation turned to the media vultures, what kind of life could that be, standing outside homes, waiting for anyone to say how nice or bad the folks were.  What good would talking to them do?  Would it bring back the children?  Would it make their deaths any easier?

I finally left them to comfort each other and deal with all the calls that needed to be made.  I approached the media this time, and asked them to please leave my friends alone to mourn.  I drove off, wondering.

I still wonder.  How does someone reach that level of misery and hopelessness?  How does someone decide that the only possible solution is killing his family?  Is the façade so important that to let the world know things aren’t perfect or easy is harder than killing your family?

I doubt there will be any real answers.  Today’s news brings word of fiscal problems besetting the husband, but it still doesn’t answer my questions.  All I know is that this family is gone.  Wiped off the face of the planet, with no one to keep their memories alive.