Boy, what a ride life is! I am in the midst of living this whole topic of change and transition and am now in the creamy middle, in the neutral zone. Through this time, I have written a rough draft of a five-chapter book and am ready to move into the second draft. In the meantime, here is a story I wrote in the writer’s workshop. As you can probably imagine, writing it was cathartic and healing.
More on change and transition over the next few months as I continue to live the experience…
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As always, love to you.
Forgiveness.
We had never met in person. Latoya spotted me easily, sitting scrunched into the corner of the front row. I was the only one in business attire beside the attorneys buzzing about in the courtroom gallery. As she approached me, I also knew her. She, the Victim’s Advocate, to whom I had spoken many times on the phone. “I am so sorry for your loss and I know Arlene would be very proud of you and the choices you’ve made. You represent the family so graciously.” A few words later, she returned to her computer across the room, stopping to whisper in the DA’s ear, pointing in my direction.
“Would you like to read your victim impact statement to the court?” the DA asked as she introduced herself. I chuckled. “Only if we have three hours cuz that’s as long as it would take, considering I’d have to stop for sobbing.”
Latoya sat on the bench in front of me, holding my hand. “He’s over there. We gave him a copy of the letter to read before he’s called up for his plea and sentencing,” she said softly. “He’s going to plead guilty.”
“Okay,” I croaked.
My hands were sweating, I knew I should have eaten something before the stressful drive into downtown Denver, construction everywhere and parking horribly scarce. The caffeine jitters or was it sitting in a chaotic court room that dropped me into fight or flight or puke, making my hands shake and my voice quiver? “Oh, god,” I sighed.
Lawyers whispering to their clients, the court clerk hollering case numbers and calling defendants. The judge asking questions, granting continuances, and dolling out sentences. The noise. Almost too much for me to take; the crimes that the defendants were defending shocked and sometimes disgusted me.
“The underbelly of society,” I thought to myself.
His name was called. He stepped to the podium. My heart fell. There he is. “He’s so young and so scared,” I thought. “Hold it together, Claudia. Hold it together,” my eyes burning, my mouth dry as memories of the past few months surfaced with fury and grief.
“Basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a baseball hat? Really? Someone needs to tell this boy how to dress for court,” I judged.
The DA read the charges. Accidental death and vehicular homicide. A few more questions from the judge. Answers softly given by him.
“Does the victim representative wish to give a statement?” the judge inquired.
“Yes, your honor, in the form of an impact statement that I will read on behalf of Mrs. Milner,” offered the DA.
She read my words, sharing my pain, my sorrow and grief to a room full of strangers. Arlene’s death was not inconsequential. She was the mother of seven, lots of grandkids, about to turn 90 in four months. My mother in law was a gentle and generous woman cherished by many. The murmuring of the room softened. Eyes and ears were focused on the DA reading my letter. Only a very few hushed conversations continued while she read. She found it necessary to stop now and again to regain her own composure. Even the judge stopped doing her judgy things and turned her attention to the DA.
“This is for you, Arlene. You are being honored through this silence of strangers.”
The judge asked him if he would like to say anything to me.
Tearily, he said, “Yes, but I’d like to do it in private.”
“Ahh, shit!” I thought. I hadn’t wanted to actually meet him face to face. I was just there to honor Arlene and witness his sentencing.
Latoya looked into my wide eyes with gentle kindness and assurance. She silently ushered me out of the courtroom, into the bustling hallway. She steered me around a corner into a tiny conference room. We waited.
“You know,” shared Latoya, “we read your letter in the office the other day and there was not a dry eye. We have never seen anything like this before.”
Willing my lungs to inhale I questioned, “What? Why? I want him to know I know this was an accident and, although we all will live with the consequences of that moment for the rest of our lives, I expect for him move beyond this trauma, to be a good person, live a good life and be a good dad. I want him to know I expect him to do good things in his life because of AND in spite of this, to not let it be an excuse for not living himself. Arlene now lives through him. He has so many challenges ahead of him. I want him to be as free as he can be to make good choices, to make sure Arlene’s death also makes a difference. And, for him to live this life I expect of him, I want him to know he also must forgive himself.”
As I stood to grab a Kleenex, the DA opened the door.
Forgiveness has given me the ability to heal, little by little. What lightness do you seek through forgiveness?