Sorting It Out

I’m still trying to sort out what the hung jury in the penalty phase means to me. The idea of hearing all that testimony again sends shivers down my spine. I’m not sure I can do it. My daughter says, “No way, you’re not going.” My therapist says, “No. It’s not your agenda.” In a way that’s true, you know. I wanted a conviction on all three counts. I wanted a chance to present who the boys where, and to make her hear what this has done to us. That has been accomplished. I’m not a fan of the death penalty, and would have been just as happy with a life sentence. Let it be OVER already!

However, it’s hard to walk away from the process. I’m Neal’s Mom. I’m Devon’s and Ian’s Oma. If all I can do is sit and witness the process, and represent them as real, living human beings, I feel like that’s my job. And, that’s my dilemma. There’s a little hung jury in my head that can’t seem to come to a consensus of what to do if the District Attorney decides to try the penalty phase again.

If you have any ideas on how to get through this, trot them out. I’m open to just about anything at this point. My mother tried to make me feel better by singing, “Que Sera, Sera” to me. Then she tried telling me that nothing matters because according to “the guy in the wheelchair” there is no God anyhow. For some reason, these strategies didn’t make much of a dent in my depression. What should I try next? A quote from the Matron of Vulcan philosophy who said that “nothing unreal exists?” Nihilism? Jedhi philosophy? If you think you can pull me out of this hole, by all means, send down a rope!



About griefsjourney

Neal's mom. Devon's and Ian's Oma.
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