I’ve been digging deep into my memories – inhaling and exhaling.
I’ve remembered people who helped me to understand strength and courage beyond anything I’ve accomplished.
Karen was one of those people.
I was a newspaper reporter when I first met Karen.
I was covering my first-ever murder trial. Karen and her husband Stan were the parents of the accused shooter. Their son Andy had laid in wait and ambushed a young California policeman.
I watched the couple day after day as they sat in the courtroom. They were good and decent people from the Midwest.
They had raised three sons; their middle son was the defendant.
Furthermore, they had that beaten down, terrified look as they sat and listened to what their son had been accused of doing. What their son admitted doing.
I didn’t see a single person talk to them. They were ignored, and the only looks they seemed to get were those of contempt.
After a few days, I stopped to introduce myself to Karen. I walked up and told her my name. She smiled. I told her I was a reporter for the local paper, and her face fell, wary of what I might want. I went on to tell her that I didn’t want to talk to her as a reporter, but instead I wanted to share that I was a mother and could only imagine the heartbreak she and her husband were facing.
I told her that I would pray for strength for her and her husband.
Their son was convicted of the murder and sentenced to death. Although the sentence has not yet been carried out, he remains in custody in one of California’s highest security prisons. The only time they could see their son was behind bars, and so it will be for the rest of his life.
On the final day of the trial, the television crews and other reporters were out in front of the courthouse interviewing the attorneys and the jury. Being among them myself, trying to do my job, I looked to the corner of the building where I saw Karen and Stan quietly standing and waiting for my attention. I went to them to wish them well and to say goodbye.
I saw them again a year or so later when they made a trip to California to visit their son.
We met for lunch and I found them to be doing as well as they could be doing.
As a mom, I can’t imagine going through what she went through, but she did it with dignity and grace, and I admire her strength and her courage.
Both Karen and Stan were stronger than I could ever be. In fact, Stan was the one to turn in his son when he learned what he had done.
Some challenges are far greater than others. I have met a few obstacles in my life, but nothing like the ones they overcame.
Some years later, Stan would die from dementia. Again, Karen stepped up. Just as she was for her son, she was there for her husband.
Every now and again, I still hear from Karen, and I see posts from her on social media. I am always happy to see the smile on her face.
She tells me much of the time she can keep it out of her mind, but that it remains a hard reality.
She has learned to exhale.
Newspaper reporting and writing have afforded me opportunities to meet people at the highest and lowest points of their lives.
From some I gain strength and courage. From others, I learn compassion.
Life is good today.■
