Justice for Nancy: It’s Hard to Find the Words.
It’s hard to find the words because there are so many thoughts. They are all circling like tornados in our heads. The whys. The what-if’s. The Memories. Remembering what she was like before this. Remembering her clarity, and worry immediately after. Really seeing the decline for what it was, and the helpless, horrible, empty feeling in our bellies from not being able to fix any of it. For not being able to make any of it better. For not being able to tell her, possibly before her demise, that he will spend the rest of his pathetic life in jail. We can’t do any of that. Fix it, or calm her. Or bring her back to us from her new world.
Yesterday my Grandma was placed into hospice care. Since being beaten blind, the mental trauma and physical trauma of becoming blind suddenly and violently have taken their toll. She is dehydrated, and has many illnesses and organs shutting down. The outlook isn’t good. Before meeting with hospice, we sat through a family member’s funeral. The talk of death was so heavy, and so unnerving. A true patience tester, not for lack of love, or hurt for our family members, but because of what is looming for my dear Grandma…. And how undeserving she is of her looming date-with-fate.
She had no knowledge that her day was coming, as it was at the hand of someone else. That “someone else” (the accused, and awaiting trial Zachery Doan) is sitting in jail, watching TV, “reading” porn magazines, and smoking his cigarettes. Getting his weekly phone calls, and hot meals. His only worry is finding out just how long he’ll spend in prison. He sends his messages to his family and friends via his mother updating his Facebook status. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is that he’s allowed to write that he’ll, “see everyone in 20.” Or that he misses everyone. WHO GIVES A SHIT?! Even better when his mother comments how she’s supporting him completely, until the end. (As a mother myself, I get it….to a point. There would be a BIG disconnect for me if my child did this to anyone.) He brutalized, pulverized….and I fear in the end, will have killed my Grandma. If the terrible happens, I hope to see his two Class A felonies, and one Class B felony have an added MURDER charge, as well.
Stop for a second, and think. What would you do if this happened to your Grandma? Or to anyone you loved? You would want justice, and vow to do anything you had to, to ensure that the pathetic waste of a life that did this would rot and decay (and repeatedly be a man-toy for anything bigger, and scarier than he is) in a jail cell.
I saw her only three days before he attacked her. We cried together, chatted politics, education, drama and the people who brought it in her life, and she always made it a point to tell me about her schedule. We laughed, a lot. My last visit with her included singing her favorite songs with her, and the kids. She picked songs that were her favorites, and I quickly found them on YouTube for her to listen to. Some she sang to, some she got emotional with, and some she just got really quiet and still. In between these times, she’d ask about Herbie, and when he was coming with the car. Her body shook, but was stilled when my Tiny Senior-Whisperer laid with her. (She had this same effect on her other Great Grandma when she fell apart in her end, too…) My mom wasn’t “in trouble” when she was there, but my aunt was 2 again. I asked to verify I was on the good list, and I was still, thankfully.
It’s so difficult to swallow that this is what it’s come to. Quality of life is always the most important thing to think of, and what the person would want. This would not do for her fiercely independent self. Everyone will be there for her, by her side, as long as she needs. We feel helpless, broken, and heavy, shattered, lost, depressed, and sometimes alone….even in a room full of people. Not to mention angry. There are no real words for this, as it’s affecting all of us in different ways.
Trial proceedings begin soon, and I will be updating and “journaling” the events. When she was in the hospital, hours after he did this to her, she spoke over and over how much she wanted him to pay. How she wished he’d rot in jail. For her, I want everyone to know what a vile, pathetic excuse of a human he is. Until then, my head will be a jumbled mess of emotion. I promise I’ll try to control the word vomit.
We now ask for prayers for her comfort, to feel no pain, and to rest. Soon, (swallowing the large, growing lump in my throat) she’ll be whole again…
