politricks and other distractions

Murder Most Foul

Well, I've talked about politics a fair amount and pop culture, so there's no time like the death of Slobodan Milosevic to talk about my third blog topic category: murder.

I have several problems with murder. First, except for the occasional pretty white girl...

A notice offering a reward in Imette St. Guillen's case hangs near the bar where she was last seen alive.

...you never hear about the victim. It's always the killer. That's the story that gets told whether it's in the news or a TV show or a movie. Serial killers a specialty.

Serial killer nurse Charles Cullen, sits alone in court during his sentencing in Somerville, N.J., Thursday, March 2, 2006. The nurse who admitted to killing as many as 40 patients... received 11 consecutive life terms in prison, making him ineligible for parole for nearly 400 years. (AP Photo/Mike Derer, Pool)

The story that rarely gets told - because it isn't sexy and the protagonist is hampered by his/her state of being dead - is that of the victim and those left behind.

When you know someone who's been murdered, you spend a lot of time imagining their last moments as if putting yourself through that scene will pay some psychic price and you could get them back. It's like having that last contact with them that you were cheated out of.

It's quite a moment, the moment you realize a) someone you love is dead and b) that another person actually planned, if even for a few minutes, to kill that person. They thought it was a good idea. Then they did it and succeeded.

Your options are limited. You don't get any second chances. You expected the victim home for dinner. For about the first 30 seconds, your mind goes, "No, that can't be. They're coming home for dinner!"

Your life then becomes a series of periods: 1) being awake and trying to stay upright and 2) tormented sleep that you awaken from to those moments where you still think the person is alive and all is right in the world. Until this happened, you never realized how little it took to make all right with the world. You vow to never take it for granted again if only god would bring that person back. If only you could trade a year of your life for one half-hour more with them. Okay, five minutes. I just have a few quick things I never said that I've got to say.

But it's too late. Incredibly too late. And it's too late because of someone else's hatred for the person you loved.

My big lesson when my friend was killed was that I'd rather have the killer locked behind bars for the rest of his life than be put the death - that would have been the easy way out. I could get into the level of retribution that would keep him in orange jumpsuits at Angola State Prison Farm in Louisiana. I would have paid extra taxes for it, in fact, but he got out after 10 years. In those 10 years I had to let go of my need for retribution and justice. Retribution just lowers me to his level, and justice is rare in life. At least I got 10 years of the man's life. I hope he learned something and never kills again.

But I was nuts for several years. I'd walk out into traffic and hope to get run over by a taxi. I'd stand at the edge of the Metro tracks and figure out the exact timing to make the jump successful. You don't want to survive jumping in front of a subway train. Luckily, I was too chicken to try any of that stuff, but my mind went there over and over again. It would certainly have stopped the pain.

The other story that never gets told - maybe because it doesn't have an ending - is that there is no getting over grief, especially from murder. You just learn to deal with it. Nothing you can do is going to bring the person you loved back or turn back the clock. No amount of hatred or screaming at the murderer is going to take away the pain. You could take a knife and rip them open, then pull out their innards with your angry hands, and it will change nothing. After your shower, you'll still be in the same hole.

Only time and some kind of healing will show you the way out of it. First you realize it's been a minute since you thought about the murder and your loss. Then weeks later, it might be as long as a half hour. A year later, you might go half a day, and on and on til years pass and it's worn a soft, sensitive groove in your heart. You no longer touch it all the time, but when you do, it's as fresh as the first day. The only thing different is you've learned to accept the cruel and unacceptable.

If you could understand this at the beginning of the grieving, you could save yourself so much trauma - and so much to those around you. Is it possible though? Just because I did it once, would it be easier the next time someone I love is murdered? I doubt it. Last time, I was nuts for about three years. Maybe next time it would only be a year and a half. Now take those numbers and apply them to all the families in America who've been touched by murder. That's a lot of suffering to be healed.

Isn't it weird that, when it comes to the phenomenon of murder, we never do anything about the consequences left behind? How can we ignore the tidal wave of pain that emanates out from the ripples of every murder in America? You can say it's one of those issues that's just too big for us to handle, but we once thought you couldn't test every bag of blood in this country for AIDS and we finally did it. Where there's a will there's a way.

Murder's an accepted epidemic in this country, easily ignored until it touches your life. But like any disease, it won't get better by pretending it doesn't exist.

Isaiah Reed, 18 (center left), brother of murder victim Starkesia Reed, is consoled by Hal Baskin, a community activist, as they march with neighborhood volunteers Monday to hand out information alerts regarding his sister's death in the Englewood neighborhood last week. Starkesia was getting ready for school when she was shot. (Tribune photo by Kuni Takahashi) Mar. 6, 2006

posted by dcnative @ 8:57 AM