km. Erika Kirk says when she got to the Hospital, she was approached by an officer who advised against her seeing Charlie like that.
“I Want to See What They Did to My Husband”
When Erika Kirk arrived at the hospital that morning, she was met not by the familiar comfort of her husband’s voice, but by an officer standing quietly in the hallway. His face was solemn, his tone measured.
“I’ve been doing this for more than thirty years,” he told her gently. “I will never tell you that you can’t see your husband. But in my professional opinion, you might want to wait until he’s at the mortuary. You don’t want to remember him like this.”
For a moment, silence filled the space between them. Then Erika lifted her chin, her voice steady but trembling with grief.
“With all due respect, sir,” she replied, “I want to see what they did to my husband. And I want to kiss him—because I didn’t get to give him one this morning.”
It was not defiance. It was love in its rawest, most human form—a final act of tenderness in a moment when the world had already taken too much.
