what really matters

I got a call from work around 8 this evening telling me to come in to work, there had been a shooting in Spring Terrace.
I was pissed. I had just gotten off from work about two hours earlier and was in another county a good hour away from the scene. I wondered why no one else, no one closer, could take it. But I turned around and headed back to the city.
The neighborhood was off of the main highway and I knew it was the right place when I saw cars lining the street and clusters of people illuminated in my headlights.
I grabbed my notebook and a pen, stuffed my keys in my pocket, and approached the first person I saw. It was a man, fairly big, probably in his 50s.
I brusquely asked what had taken place, that I heard there had been a shooting.
The man stood there for a moment, stepped so close to me, the darkness couldn't hide his face anymore.So close I felt slightly uncomfortable.
My son. he said, his blue eyes flat, empty.
It's my son. He shot hisself.
He shot hisself. He repeated.
Him and his wife just recently separated and he killed himself.
I felt all my annoyance melt away and an embarassment that I was out here, trying to get details from him for a news story, when his whole world had just come crashing down.
I'm sorry. I told him. And then I walked away.
We don't report on suicides so after attempting to find a police officer to confirm that it was a suicide, I left. Walking past huddled groups of people in the dark, the only sounds soft voices and weeping.
It was a bit of a reality check; just let go of the little things.