Thoughts on an Anniversary
Oct. 15th, 2004 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omimouseI've been semi-offline for a week or so now. I came on long enough earlier this week to be reminded of the anniversary of Matthew Sheppard's murder.
I don't know how to respond, or how to react. I'm sad that he died, enraged at how he died, and I grieve for his family's loss. I see how people talk about him, and I agree, his death should not be allowed to become meaningless, that he should not have died for nothing.
When I was 8 or 9, my sister and I had a friend called Ginger. She and her sibs lived with their grandparents. Their mom wasn't really up to taking care of them, and their dad was an abusive drug-addict. Anne was their grandma's name. She sort of adopted my sister and I. She told us stories, taught us how to sew, became the grandma that Dad's mother had never been.
Anne and her husband were involved in a court fight to get custody of the kids from their father. It was mostly formalities; the man had a long record of abuse, rape, drunken driving, and drugs.
Mom came to pick me up from the library one day. Barbara was crying like she'd never stop. I thought she was in trouble or something. Mom sat down, and told me that Anne had died. I remember feeling sudden, perfect calm. I asked if she'd had a heart attack. To this day, I think that I would've healed easier if her death had been natural, or a complete and utter accident.
Mom said no, she and her husband had been shot by their son-in-law outside the courthouse. That Anne and her husband had gotten custody of the kids. That their son-in-law had brought a gun with him to the hearing, into the courthouse. That he had threatened them several times during the case. That the police had not searched him, or even held him for long enough for Anne and her husband to get to their car, and leave. That someone had tried to run him over to stop him from shooting Anne. That he had been wounded by the cops after firing on the officers that came to the scene.
The calm shattered. I know I screamed loud enough to scare the librarians, but I don't remember leaving the library. I remember not going to school the next day, and not doing much of anything except concentrate on breathing, eating, and sleeping over the weekend. I remember wishing for someone else's death for the first time in my life. I remember how much the loss hurt I've never really gotten over that pain. You don't heal from something like that, not totally.
I know what it feels like to loose a loved one to a pointless death. I know what it feels like to loose a loved one to someone else's hate. I know how it feels, the anger, the feeling that you have to make their death mean something, that you can't just let them end like this.
I grieve with Matthew's family, and with Anne's. I grieve with Ginger and her sibs, whom I never saw again. I grieve with everyone and anyone who has lost a loved one to violence.
And I promise myself, and them, that I will not hate.
I don't know how to respond, or how to react. I'm sad that he died, enraged at how he died, and I grieve for his family's loss. I see how people talk about him, and I agree, his death should not be allowed to become meaningless, that he should not have died for nothing.
When I was 8 or 9, my sister and I had a friend called Ginger. She and her sibs lived with their grandparents. Their mom wasn't really up to taking care of them, and their dad was an abusive drug-addict. Anne was their grandma's name. She sort of adopted my sister and I. She told us stories, taught us how to sew, became the grandma that Dad's mother had never been.
Anne and her husband were involved in a court fight to get custody of the kids from their father. It was mostly formalities; the man had a long record of abuse, rape, drunken driving, and drugs.
Mom came to pick me up from the library one day. Barbara was crying like she'd never stop. I thought she was in trouble or something. Mom sat down, and told me that Anne had died. I remember feeling sudden, perfect calm. I asked if she'd had a heart attack. To this day, I think that I would've healed easier if her death had been natural, or a complete and utter accident.
Mom said no, she and her husband had been shot by their son-in-law outside the courthouse. That Anne and her husband had gotten custody of the kids. That their son-in-law had brought a gun with him to the hearing, into the courthouse. That he had threatened them several times during the case. That the police had not searched him, or even held him for long enough for Anne and her husband to get to their car, and leave. That someone had tried to run him over to stop him from shooting Anne. That he had been wounded by the cops after firing on the officers that came to the scene.
The calm shattered. I know I screamed loud enough to scare the librarians, but I don't remember leaving the library. I remember not going to school the next day, and not doing much of anything except concentrate on breathing, eating, and sleeping over the weekend. I remember wishing for someone else's death for the first time in my life. I remember how much the loss hurt I've never really gotten over that pain. You don't heal from something like that, not totally.
I know what it feels like to loose a loved one to a pointless death. I know what it feels like to loose a loved one to someone else's hate. I know how it feels, the anger, the feeling that you have to make their death mean something, that you can't just let them end like this.
I grieve with Matthew's family, and with Anne's. I grieve with Ginger and her sibs, whom I never saw again. I grieve with everyone and anyone who has lost a loved one to violence.
And I promise myself, and them, that I will not hate.
