April 29, 2008

Struggling to find Justice

Just over six months ago, I sat at my computer pouring my emotions into a Victim’s Impact Statement that was to be delivered to the parole board residing over the parole hearing of Matt Bryant. Matt’s parole hearing happened to be scheduled at the very time that Ericha’s murder became the primary focus of my therapy sessions. Dealing with the stress of Matt’s parole hearing so soon after delving into Ericha’s murder in therapy felt overwhelming - as if salt was being poured onto a freshly re-opened wound. On the other hand, I see now that the writing of an impact statement during this time was perhaps therapeutic as well. I printed my completed statement, gave it a kiss for good luck and placed it into the mailbox. I would soon find that the parole board had denied Matt’s release. I felt so relieved, so validated.

The last few weeks, I began to wonder if the next parole hearing would result in my relief as well. Six months had passed by so quickly, I thought. Matt’s next parole hearing was fast approaching.

This weekend I received a letter in the mail from the Department of Corrections. I realized immediately that the letter would contain the outcome Matt’s parole hearing. The time had come to view the results. I paused briefly and then slowly opened the letter.

“This letter is to inform you that the above inmate will be released from custody on or after May 13th, 2008.”

I read the letter over and over, each time hoping for a different, more forgiving interpretation. I don’t think I was actually able to process what it said. My brain would not let it sink in. I kept thinking that this must mean that he’s being released from that facility and is being transferred to another facility. I furrowed my brow, searching for any evidence that would support this conclusion. They couldn’t possibly just let him out. It’s been ten years. In ten years, his time was over and he was free. Yet, Ericha remains in her cold grave, I thought. Ten years for brutally ending the life of another human being, a wonderful human being.

I slowly began to realize – it’s over. There is nothing more that I can do. He will be released soon and his time in prison will be over. I can no longer think of Ericha and be comforted by the thought that both of her killers are behind bars. The feeling of a loss of control is palpable. He will be released and will once again be able to walk down the streets of his home town. He will spend time with his family. He will have the chance to meet new people, make friends, perhaps even fall in love. I can’t help but feel sickened knowing that Ericha’s killer will be able to experience these simple yet beautiful things while Ericha cannot. Never again will she be able to laugh with her friends, flirt with a man or hold a child.

I find myself struggling to find the justice in this.

April 3, 2008

Letting Go

Nearly two weeks had passed since the conversation with my mother. Each day I called my mother, hoping that she would answer the phone but not quite sure if she would. Each day I sighed slightly with relief when she’d answer, only then to become exhausted by her sobs. I tried to weigh each day if I thought she sounded as though she might agree to go to the hospital. I tried to comfort her.

During one such conversation my mother told me that she was so upset by my nephew’s trip being cancelled because she had planned to commit suicide while my nephew was visiting me out of state. She told me how she had been planning the suicide for months. She had visited me herself several months beforehand, believing that would be the last time she’d see me. My mother explained that she had become more calm during the previous months because she felt as though she had a plan – a final decision on specifically when she wouldn’t have to “be on this earth” anymore. Now that she realized her opportunity had passed, she was frantic. She felt trapped. She had planned to commit suicide during my nephew’s trip because she thought he was the “most sensitive” family member and because of that, she wanted him to be absent during that time. She also felt like I would be able to provide a stable environment for him during a traumatizing time.

I listened to my mother and began to think of what it would have been like, had my nephew’s trip not been cancelled. I imagined getting the call, having to compose myself, having to tell my nephew, having to quiet his inevitable feelings of guilt. I knew he would’ve felt guilty since he has become somewhat of a caregiver to my mother and sister already. I thanked God that my mother’s plans had been disrupted. I knew she was in pain but I still wanted her here.

It became increasingly more difficult to keep my energy level up each day after speaking with my mother. I found myself thinking about her while at work (partially because she would call me sobbing, while I was at work, asking for me to help her). After one week of this “suicide watch” I was exhausted. I had felt as though I had to carry my mother through these episodes on my back. I slowly began to realize that I don’t have that ability anymore. Maybe I never did.

There was one conversation I had with my mother during this time that was calm. My mother was having a better day. She was still talking about being suicidal, but wasn’t crying or particularly upset. I had spoken with my father earlier that day and he had asked me how I was doing. The question dumbfounded me. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since a member of my family asked me that. Now, I was speaking to my mother, she was calm and I was exhausted. I waited for her to ask. She spent the next twenty minutes talking about her thoughts and her doctors and her sleeping and eating habits. I listened and hung up the phone when she had finished.

Several days later, I was speaking to my mother when she finally asked half-heartedly, “well, what’s wrong with you?” Sure, it wasn’t the ‘how are you doing’ I was looking for, but it would do. “Mom, I’m really stressed out.” She paused, “Well…why? What's going on?” she said. “Mom, I’m exhausted. This has been exhausting. You don’t understand that every conversation I have with you in which you tell me in detail, how you plan to kill yourself, exhausts me.” No sooner did the words come out of my mouth, I regretted them. She was silent. “I’m just saying that this has been stressful for me too, that’s all.” She began to cry. “Mom…Mom, how are the boys doing?” I was able to shift her thoughts to the boys. I asked her enough questions to calm her.

The next morning I realized that I had a voicemail when I arrived at work. It was from my mother. She told me that she thought it would be best if we didn’t speak anymore. “You get upset when you talk to me and I get upset when I talk to you,” she said. Not an accurate view of events in my opinion. “So, I just wanted to tell you that. And I think it’s for the best. I love you, Emily. Goodbye.”

I wasn’t sure what to think. My eyes welled with tears, naturally because my mother had, for all intents and purposes, just wished me goodbye. I was angry at first, then relieved. I listened to the message again. Her last words, “I love you, Emily. Goodbye” were spoken with one of the most loving tones of voice I’ve ever heard from my mother. I sat, perplexed. It then occurred to me that the best way to frame this was that my mother was doing me a service. Perhaps, I thought, she loves me so much that she’s decided to let me go.