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| Category: General Experiences |
Date published: November 14, 2005 |
No one thinks it'll ever happen to him or her ... death perhaps, but never murder.
The call that came left us in shock. Our grandson's father, his uncle, and his dad's girlfriend, all brutally murdered in their home. Not only were they shot, the murderer, having used a shotgun, had stabbed them as well. Thief appeared to be the motive.
Our grandson was three months away from his thirteenth birthday at the time of the murders, not yet a man. A little boy who needed his father. He still hugged and kissed his dad, and in many ways, took care of him during his bouts of depression. An outgoing man, who laughed, joked, and seemed to know everyone, often spent hours in bed, staring at the ceiling, during times of depression.
Cory narrowly escaped death that night, it was his weekend to spend with his dad, but his trip to North Carolina to spend Christmas with us had thrown off the schedule.
We attended the funeral. Two caskets stood head to head, two brothers, two of three children. Their mother and father were devastated. Our grandson and his older brother, brave, as they stood side by side in the receiving line, and our daughter, her eyes sad, standing beside them with the arms of her fianc?e for support. He is now her husband, and a wonderful stepfather to our grandson. Persons from all walks of life attended the funeral, rich, successful men, as well as men and woman dressed in motor cycle garb. Gary, more so than his brother, knew, and was friends, with them all. Grown men cried. Tear stained suits of black were seen everywhere.
The third person, a woman, his dad's girlfriend, awaited her viewing. Postponed because of a massive heart attack of her father upon hearing the tragic news. A closed casket when it finally was held. She'd been shot in the face. The father has since died.
And then came the trial. The murderer pleaded guilty to avoid the death penalty, and was given three consecutive, life terms, with no chance for parole. The family was allowed to speak before the court, and before the eyes of the murderer. Our grandson Cory recited a poem he'd written for his father.
Dad Poem
You loved me more than words can express
Even if you tried to bribe me into wearing a dress
You helped make me who I am today
My A.D.H.D. is only one way
You forced me to get good grades in school
Even if it wasn't cool
You treated me as an equal
My mom's words to you were very feeble
You showed me so much affection
Even if bed was your addiction
It lasted such a short time
To the most heinous of a crime
One man took your life away
Never again will I say
I love you and give you a hug
Nag you for money like a bug
Hopefully God has accepted you into his home
And shown you your own throne
I wish you could have been here longer
Seen me grow bigger and stronger
Watch me go to high school and college
See me gain all that knowledge
Never to meet your grandson
Neither mine nor Robbie's, either one
Now you'll always be with me
Even though I cannot see
I'll be with you in many years
Although I will have to shed many tears.
Most of my family will be gone by then.
Thankfully, I was luckier than most men.
Our last words shall forever be
"I love you," and dad, take care of me.
The child grew, becoming a man, but the pain of losing his father remains in his heart. Last year, at age seventeen, he wrote the falling poem, a rap song.
June, 2005, Rap Song by Cory
13 years old, went to bed one night,
life seemed good, everything was all right
Christmas just passed, sh't was tight,
Mama woke me up, tears blurrin' her sight.
I sat up slow and asked what was wrong,
she told me she had just gotten off the phone
I knew it was bad, even her man was cryin',
looked out the window, the sun barely shinin',
I looked at her face and all she could say,
Honey, ya dad just passed away.
I put my head in my hands and started to cry,
last true tears to ever fall from my eye,
shot to death, died in his sleep,
my uncle died, too, his back as a sheath.
All the sudden, life started to look bleak,
what am I livin' for, God, answer me.
A present sent to me straight from hell,
the man who did it got 200 years in jail,
if it was up to me, he wouldn't have lived one,
I'd a made him pay for all he done.
Now tryin' to live my life to the fullest,
I know he's lookin' down on me, smokin' on the truest,
I try to believe he died for a reason,
faith inside me keeps me breathin'.
Don't worry 'bout me, ya son is OK, every January 5th,
I'm a visit ya grave, and as for the bluntz I blaze...
R.I.P., Pops, they're in ya name.
It takes a long time to recover from loss, but even longer when that loss has come through means of violence. A small urn containing his father's ashes sits on a dresser in our grandson's bedroom.
Next year, he'll be off to college, and I know he'll make us all proud. A good kid, an honor student with a big heart, as well as an injured one.
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In My Own Words: Out-of-the-Ordinary Experiences
