"In That Most Appropriate Place - We'll Finish This"

September 13

Detective Finian Kohl has just left my house walking through the front door, down the walk to his car and driving away. He spent at least an hour here explaining to me and my wife Elaine that there was an altercation at Joe's corner store and our twenty year old son Luke was shot to death. Elaine has my entire body in a death grip. Her tears are soaking my clothes. Her cries are ripping into my soul. I cannot cry. I am numb.

September 14

We were notified that a formal identification of Joe's body is required. My brother Malcolm offered to do this for Elaine and me. Even considering accepting Malcolm's kindness, I felt like a coward. Finally, all three of us go to the morgue. We are not permitted to touch Joe. We are made to look at him through a window. Elaine is standing behind me her face pressed into my shoulder. She is silently sobbing. Her body shudders which makes my body shudder. A woman in a white coat removes a cover from Joe’s face. For a moment I imagine myself back in the delivery room holding out my hands to catch baby Joe being born from Elaine’s body, his wet head emerging into this dangerous world from the safety of her womb. That image abandons me and leaves me with this new one. The replacement. Joe is dead. I cannot catch him.

September 29

We are sitting with county prosecutors who are explaining to us that a decision must be made regarding charges. The investigation of the "incident" is complete. The facts of the case provide some latitude in both charges and punishment. We are being consulted. Elaine asks questions. She wants to know about the person who shot Joe. “How old is he?” “Does he have a family?” “What were the circumstances?” “Why did he shoot Joe?” “Is he sorry?”

I am astonished. Elaine has not stopped crying until now. Her face is drawn. Her eyes are red. By herself she cannot sit upright and clings to me. I do not interrupt her. I do not scold her which is what I want to do. I want to remind her that Joe was only twenty years old and that is all that matters. Nothing else matters. The only reasonable charge is the one that will result in the punishment of execution. Our son is dead. The one who killed him must be killed. Even if he is sorry.

November 10

Finally! The trial is over. A trial is a monument to civilization. It is a contest to present a simple truth from multiple points of view. Fascinating! It is fascinating. There is some preening. Ego is everywhere. Dramatic. As if any drama could be greater than Joe being gunned down holding a soda and a bag of chips.

November 17

Today is the sentencing. Sentencing will not take place before the Victim Impact Statements are shared. Elaine has one. She wrote it herself but does not feel strong enough to read it in court. Her Victim Advocate is reading it for her. I have a statement. It is brief. Good. The Advocate has finished reading Elaine’s statement. It is my turn. I will carry this sheet of paper with me to the lectern. It is just a diversion. I have only one thing to say. I have rehearsed it in the mirror. I am at the lectern which faces the judge, but I am turned toward the murderer. I hope I appear composed and nonthreatening. However, I intend to threaten him when I speak the words I have rehearsed.

“If I cannot forgive you before my own death, then I will see you in Hell where we will finish this.”

A guard moves to stand in front of the murderer and extends his right arm as if to say to me, “This way please,” as I am escorted out of the courtroom.