The Smell of Gunpowder and Blood

Later my neighbors told my parents what happened.  From out of nowhere police cars, emergency vehicles and even a S.W.A.T. team converged upon our home that day.  The S.W.A.T. team members were in formation, their bullet proof shields raised and at the ready.  They would take a few paces, then drop to one knee, take a few paces, drop again until they made it across our lawn and to the front door.  Once there, and they had been given the "all clear" they entered our home.  A place that had always been my sanctuary, a place where I could be me, run around in a pair of gym shorts and one of Tim's old t-shirts was now a den of death......a possible crime scene as far as they were concerned.

I pulled my car up to the curb in front of our house and jumped out.  A police officer with a notepad and pen walked across my lawn to meet me.  "This is my house!"  I said as I stood on the sidewalk, "My husband was here alone, is he okay?"  "Are you Mrs. McCary?" he inquired, I responded that I was.  "Ma'am, we received a phone call from this residence at approximately 12:00 p.m. stating that there would be a suicide and that the doors would be unlocked."  Stunned, I responded, "That was my husband....... is he dead?"  The officer with raw emotion and compassion in his eyes looked me and said, "I'm sorry ma'am, yes he is."

I threw my head back, looked into a cloudless blue August sky and screamed and screamed and screamed.  The next thing I knew I was flat on my back on the blazing Arizona blacktop.  Seemingly from out of nowhere  the police officer and a lady that I had not even noticed helped me up off of the pavement.  "Get up ma'am." the officer said.  "We don't want you to get burned."  They sat me on the bumper of one of the emergency vehicles.  I began to tremble violently.  It was a trembling that jarred my teeth and the very core of my bones.  The lady that had helped me up introduced herself.  Her name escapes me, but she was a grief counsellor for the Avondale Police Department.  She asked me if I needed some water, if there was anyone I could call to come be with me.  At some point I snapped out of it and shifted gears into "take control" mode.  There were people I needed to call, our church family, our immediate family, our children.......oh God how was I going to tell our children?

I retrieved my phone from my purse and began making calls.  The first people I called were Tim's aunt and uncle Charles and Mary Combs, for they were the only relatives we had living in Phoenix at the time.  It just so happened that they were on the road, in Bakersfield, traveling back to Phoenix after having been in California visiting Tim's mom Cynthia.  They assured me they would turn around and head back to Turlock, calling Tim's brothers as they drove to have them meet them at Tim's mom and step dad's house to break the news.  I was so thankful, that was one call I did not want to make.  How could I tell my sweet mother in law that her oldest son had taken his own life?  Next I called Tim's personal secretary. I can recall her screaming "No!  No!  No!"  over and over and then instructing her daughter to grab her car keys, that they had to go to the McCary's house.  Next was my Pastor's wife, Sis. Keyes.  She assured me that she and Pastor Keyes would contact my family personally for me.  And finally, I had to call my daughter Kendra who was at work and tell her to come home immediately.  She was confused and kept asking me what was wrong.  I just told her she needed to come home.  I then called her fiance who is now her husband, told him what had happened and asked him to come and be there for Kendra when she arrived. Haley was at school and I would deal with that later and our son Zack and his wife were at his Army base in Kansas and I would have to go thru the proper channels in the military to contact him.  For now, I waited for them to let me into my home.

They were inside with Tim's body taking pictures, looking at blood spatter, testing his hand for gun powder residue, measuring, searching for spent shell casings.  All of that CSI stuff that you would see in a television show minus the beautiful actors and actresses, the dramatic lighting and music and the happy ending.  No, this was real and it wasn't pretty, not at all.

People began to arrive at our home.  Tim's secretary and her family, our Assistant Pastor and his wife, Kendra's boyfriend, and then, Kendra.  Everything was starting to become a blur at this point but I do recall I was talking to someone and looked over to see Kendra getting out of her car, people surrounding her, telling her, and then her nearly collapsing onto the pavement.  I remember her being held up and escorted over to me, us embracing, trembling.  At this point I had no tears, only immeasurable heartbreak and grief and an odd determination to do what I must.

They informed me that they were ready to remove Tim's body from our home and take it to the morgue.  They were concerned about distraught family members rushing the body.  I assured them to go ahead with the removal, that we would be fine.

The front door opened and I distinctly recall our Assistant Pastor behind me, his wife in front of me and they got me into some sort of bear hug, their arms interlocked around me.  People were doing the same with Kendra.  And then, suddenly, there was the stretcher carrying his lifeless form.  My mouth opened wide in an unearthly scream and my legs went limp.  Bro. and Sis. Flores were literally holding me up.  He was completely covered of course, from head to toe in a heavy burgundy blanket.  I remember thinking that it looked itchy.

They loaded his body and then they left.  Shortly thereafter they gave us the all clear to enter the house.  Afraid to go in alone I asked our Assistant Pastor and his wife and Tim's Secretary to accompany me.  As we entered thru the door leading from the garage I remember crying out "I can smell it!  I can smell it!"  Permeating thru the house was an overwhelming scent of gunpowder and the metallic, pungent, very unique smell of blood.