Orange you gonna enter the giveaway yet? :)
So… in an effort to drive you all madly insane and bored to tears with the zillion posts the accident has triggered, I am hoping this is the epilogue. You know, where the fat lady signs?
(Oh come on… you didn’t get that? It’s deaf humor… she SIGNS? ;)
So… Miss R. looks back at me and says
I’m left feeling a bit conflicted.
Is that the closure I was looking for? Her tears and regret?
I feel strangely connected to her – that split second destruction could have been a “being in the RIGHT place at the RIGHT time” that puts her on the path to changing her life.
But I struggle with the same thing that I do in parenting: I can talk and teach and show til I’m blue in the face… and yet everyone has free will.
We start to head out of the courtroom, passing by the row of her supporters gingerly… I am more afraid of them than I am of her.
We all breath a sigh of relief as we head to the elevators. I think we are all a bit drained and happy to be leaving.
We board the elevator and my dad hits the floor button.
The doors begin to close, but just like in a bad movie… and arm suddenly thrusts between and pries them open.
I gasp quietly and my mind starts racing. This very complex is where a correctional officer nearly lost her life fighting an inmate in an elevator.
The wrinkled hand belongs to the old man who had sat in the back of the courtroom.
He shuffles onto the elevator, looks at my dad, and says:
That the girl she hurt?
My dad replies in the affirmative and the old man begins to speak:
That’s my granddaughter.
I didn’t even know what this was about today.
She needs to straighten up her life.
You know kids… they never listen.
And he finally steals a glance at me and I can see the remorse and unspoken apology in his eyes.
I nod wordlessly and we continue down.
As he exits, I look at Mr. Daddy in disbelief and say, “that’s the old man who was taking pictures at the scene, isn’t it?! He’s the one who was acting uncooperative, right?”
We are headed out the building, almost through the metal detectors when I feel pounding footsteps behind me. I turn and a woman grabs my arm.
I recognize her. She is the one with the beautiful little boy from the front row.
I am suddenly even more grateful that my dad and Mr. Daddy are right there.
She needed to hear that
I hope this helps her change
I had a substance problem too
and I’ve been clean for nine years
I’m her best friend
I’m gonna help her
What do you say?
I think the entire group expected something different that day.
But I didn’t have the energy to be angry. I didn’t have the heart to be judgmental.
I simply saw such a broken person that looked like me.
And over and over again… the refrain in my mind.
That God was every bit as crazy about her as He is about me.
Talk about humbling.