I had dinner the other night with my brother and his wife and two other couples, close friends for many years. We were celebrating a day I once thought would never come. My sister-in-law made reference to the reason for the celebration once or twice during the evening - not to the day we were commemorating, but the years in between that day and this. I toasted the occasion heartily, but didn't really want to speak about April 5, 2000.
The occasion for dinner was the ending of my brother's parole. Fourteen years ago he was convicted of a crime and taken from the courtroom in handcuffs. The trial had lasted only two days; the jury deliberated less than two hours. His wife and I sat together in stunned silence and horror, warned by the bailiff not to make any outbursts. We met briefly with my brother's lawyer in a conference room near the entrance to the courtroom, across the hall from another room where we could see friends hugging each other, tables laden with food and drinks as if prepared for a party. No one consoled us or offered to bring snacks and drinks. But then we could not have eaten anything anyway. I heard the lawyer talking through the noise in my head, but I did not comprehend most of what he said. The things I did remember about the likelihood of a short sentence turned out not to be true.
We waited till most people had left and then went out to the parking lot to find the battery dead in our car. I wondered if anyone would even give us a jump - no one had made eye contact with us since the verdict was read. A gentle-faced woman took pity on us, and we drove away in silence. I remember stopping at the house where my brother and his family used to live - now for sale since they were no longer welcome in their community or church. My sister in law needed to pick up something. The house which had always been so full of laughter and children's voices was as silent as we were. Then we began the two hour drive to the town where I lived and where his family had been staying while they waited for the outcome of his trial. Three of us had driven down that morning, but only two of us returned. I don't remember much of our conversation - I don't think we said much. I do remember my sister agonizing over how to tell her children the news. At the time they were 14, 12, 9, 6 and 3 years old. I also remember the terrible unspoken thoughts about what was happening to my brother. Since I've heard his account of that time I think it was better we did not know.
We returned to the house where the children had spent the day playing and Eileen and I sat in the living room. I remember her visibly shaking. She brought the children in one at a time to tell them that Daddy would be away for a long time. As she spoke I mentally calculated the age each child might be when their father returned. Even with the false hope of a 3-5 year sentence, it seemed like an eternity he would be gone, an eternity in which his children would grow and change and become unrecognizable.
As things turned out, he spent 8 years behind bars and the last 6 on parole. He was finally cut loose last Wednesday, free to come and go as he pleases. He is no longer a family doctor but a laborer for a remodeling contractor. Four of his five children no longer live at home. We are all older, tireder, sadder and perhaps a bit wiser than we were fourteen years ago. The chapter that began so dramatically ended almost without a notice - a letter in the mail instead of a gasp in the courtroom. I may finally write about that time which had the power to alter so many lives so profoundly. I may be able to say things I have never yet said. But right now I am just glad to put it behind me.
The occasion for dinner was the ending of my brother's parole. Fourteen years ago he was convicted of a crime and taken from the courtroom in handcuffs. The trial had lasted only two days; the jury deliberated less than two hours. His wife and I sat together in stunned silence and horror, warned by the bailiff not to make any outbursts. We met briefly with my brother's lawyer in a conference room near the entrance to the courtroom, across the hall from another room where we could see friends hugging each other, tables laden with food and drinks as if prepared for a party. No one consoled us or offered to bring snacks and drinks. But then we could not have eaten anything anyway. I heard the lawyer talking through the noise in my head, but I did not comprehend most of what he said. The things I did remember about the likelihood of a short sentence turned out not to be true.
We waited till most people had left and then went out to the parking lot to find the battery dead in our car. I wondered if anyone would even give us a jump - no one had made eye contact with us since the verdict was read. A gentle-faced woman took pity on us, and we drove away in silence. I remember stopping at the house where my brother and his family used to live - now for sale since they were no longer welcome in their community or church. My sister in law needed to pick up something. The house which had always been so full of laughter and children's voices was as silent as we were. Then we began the two hour drive to the town where I lived and where his family had been staying while they waited for the outcome of his trial. Three of us had driven down that morning, but only two of us returned. I don't remember much of our conversation - I don't think we said much. I do remember my sister agonizing over how to tell her children the news. At the time they were 14, 12, 9, 6 and 3 years old. I also remember the terrible unspoken thoughts about what was happening to my brother. Since I've heard his account of that time I think it was better we did not know.
We returned to the house where the children had spent the day playing and Eileen and I sat in the living room. I remember her visibly shaking. She brought the children in one at a time to tell them that Daddy would be away for a long time. As she spoke I mentally calculated the age each child might be when their father returned. Even with the false hope of a 3-5 year sentence, it seemed like an eternity he would be gone, an eternity in which his children would grow and change and become unrecognizable.
As things turned out, he spent 8 years behind bars and the last 6 on parole. He was finally cut loose last Wednesday, free to come and go as he pleases. He is no longer a family doctor but a laborer for a remodeling contractor. Four of his five children no longer live at home. We are all older, tireder, sadder and perhaps a bit wiser than we were fourteen years ago. The chapter that began so dramatically ended almost without a notice - a letter in the mail instead of a gasp in the courtroom. I may finally write about that time which had the power to alter so many lives so profoundly. I may be able to say things I have never yet said. But right now I am just glad to put it behind me.
1 comment:
Wow. I didn't know this was part of your journey. I am sorry for all of the pain and heartache for all involved. May God's grace bring peace and healing as only He can provide.
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