Lunch hours at the Gallery are prized possessions! Working in the high paced environment that we do, we cherish our time to unplug and take a breather from our desks. Normally, my friends and I go out for coffee or linger among the courtyards of the market as a means of refreshing our minds and bodies for the rest of the day. Today though, we stood along Sussex Drive with five thousand police officers and hundreds of other mourners to say farewell to RCMP Const. Christopher John Worden.

The Notre Dame Basilica, where the funeral was being held, is directly across the street from the Gallery. A large screen television and chairs were set up on our plaza for the hundreds of people that couldn't fit into the church. Being closely affected by today's ceremony due to proximity, all of us at the Gallery had been prepped since last Friday in anticipation of crowds that simply outnumbered the capacity of what could be provided. My friends and I were merely a few of the literally thousands of people that turned out for an incredibly moving display of brotherhood.

Like most Canadians, none of us knew Const. Worden other than to know him in his tragic death. In the line of duty, the 30 year old father and husband was shot dead. Something about him being our age and being from Ottawa made it hit home in a way that compelled us to stand on the curb of Sussex Drive to provide some form of solidarity to his brave wife and family that had to endure their final goodbye. The streets of Ottawa were oddly quiet. Much like most people's ability to comprehend what happened, the core of the city had shut down. As his wife and young daughter stood on the sidewalk in front of the church, three thousand police officers marched from Parliament Hill up to the Basilica escorting Const. Worden's casket. It was heart-wrenching.

People around us cried and the errie silence of the city was broken with the sound of bagpipes in the distance. His casket was drapped in a Canadian flag and I couldn't help but wonder if every other officer present felt a disturbing feeling at knowing that the possibility of their own family standing there one day is very real. This is how you say goodbye to heroes.

Some would ask why you would endure such a difficult moment when you don't know the person that was lost. The only answer that I can think of is because that young wife is one of us. Right now, while her husband is in heaven, she must feel like she's in hell. While we are going about our day, she is having to comprehend a life that will never be the same. Though we stood across the street from her, we were really world's apart. How could you possibly be so close to this sort of grief and not make an effort to share in it?? Had you been there, you too would have done anything to bear the weight of some of her pain.

I ended up staying for almost three hours because somehow, I couldn't tear myself away from it. Something inside of me physically ached and all the while, I felt like I was watching a movie. It was simply too surreal to truly be happening. I was lost in a sea of sadness.

As the funeral ended, Const. Worden's wife stood by herself at the edge of the sidewalk holding their eight month old daughter as she watched her husband get carried away for the last time. The sight of it left me broken. All of the police officers soon lined either side of Sussex drive for more than a kilometre as Const. Worden was taken to Beechwood Cemetery for a private burial. A flood of salutes surrounded the cars as he was taken away and then there was nothing left in me but tears. Nothing I write here today can accurately express what it felt like to witness this sadness and as I stare blankly at the screen I come to realize that there are simply no words. This fallen hero died trying to protect us.

I usually return from my lunch hour more prepared to tackle the remainder of the day. Today, I returned questioning the fragility of life and the sense of justice that harnesses our world.

Some things simply aren't fair.

(Photo by Tom Hanson of the Canadian Press)