Final Words: Reflections of a Forensic Pathologist

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    Prologue: Handprints

    Bright yellow, red, and blue artwork hung on my office wall. The handprints held my attention transforming from primary colors to dripping blood red. I stared at the finger-painted images, a framed Mother’s Day gift from my three sons. Their hands progressed in size, just like my boys progressed in age. I shut and reopened…

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  • The Boy

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    In the Kitchen

    The stainless steel of the refrigerator door felt cool against my forehead. My heart hammered. My throat seized up. I tried to quiet my sobs as my breath came in staccato bursts. My eyes squeezed shut.  Marty, a man of 25, turned on the light in the kitchen. “Mom, what’s wrong?” my son said. I…

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  • The Boy

  • In the Kitchen

    In the Kitchen

    The stainless steel of the refrigerator door felt cool against my forehead. My heart hammered. My throat seized up. I tried to quiet my sobs as my breath came in staccato bursts. My eyes squeezed shut.  Marty, a man of 25, turned on the light in the kitchen. “Mom, what’s wrong?” my son said. I…