The morning of Robert Costall's funeral, I was sick to my stomach.
I tried to play with my daughter as I watched the clock, knowing I'd have to leave soon and join the media scrum. Five Playdough bird's nests later, I was driving my daughter to daycare and thanking God for her. I thought about how Robert's wife Chrissy must be feeling having to raise her son without Robert, and I started to feel nauseous again thinking about the swarms of photographers jockeying to get a photo of her in her grief. I felt a huge responsibility to tell the Costall story to the Sunshine Coast, without intruding on the family who didn't want to talk to reporters. The call I made to Robert's parents earlier that week made me feel sleazy, but I consoled myself with the old reporter line: "They may want the chance to say something about him." In the days leading up to Costall's memorial, we were flooded at the paper with calls from people wanting to know what was going on. Some were interested community members who wanted to pay their respects, and others were "big city" reporters trying to get phone numbers and contacts of people to interrogate for their stories. My editor simply told them we didn't know anything and we reaffirmed our desire to treat the story and the family with respect. Upon arrival at the memorial, I saw camera crews and reporters bustling around the Gibsons Legion, trying to find people who knew Robert who were willing to talk. One female reporter was scheming with her cameraman about how to get people grieving inside the Legion on camera.
I found the media liaison person, Capt. Dan Thomas, and checked in. He was a pleasant man, doing his best to answer questions from an onslaught of media who wanted their own "exclusive" of some sort.
As I found a spot on the hillside to wait for the funeral to commence, I heard a reporter on his cell phone laughing and swearing, his voice carrying down the hill to the huddle of mourners outside the Christian Life Assembly. I shot him a dirty look but he didn't even notice. It seems small town reporters are invisible in such a swarm. Soon all media were called to a briefing where Thomas stressed the family didn't want any close up photos taken of grieving family members. I nodded my head in agreement as one female reporter asked, "Well, what constitutes a close up to you?" She was obviously trying to find a way around the rule. I saw a close up picture of Chrissy in agony at the last memorial in Edmonton. That picture was beamed across the CP wire and soon everyone was picking it up and playing it big.
I was forced to leave the memorial early to enable me to file my story before our 4 p.m. deadline that day. Once back at my desk, my anxiety rose. There was so much to say and I wanted to say it right. I tried to give a glimpse of Robert to those of us who didn't know him.
He was a true friend, a loving husband and father and a man proud of his role in the military. Hearing about him from his brother Bud during the memorial made me sad that I never knew him, and it made me think about all the people I take for granted in my life. To the Costall family, my prayers go out to you. I thank you for sharing a bit of Robert with those of us who were not fortunate enough to know him.
