Thursday, August 29, 2013

A Disparaging Decision


In some previous posts, I have alluded to pending lawsuits related to my late husband’s death.  One of these suits is against the Champaign County Sherriff’s Office and the Illinois State Police.

To summarize, my husband did NOT have a valid FOID (Firearm Owner’s Identification Card); he had a very public history of mental illness in our community; he was labeled a mental prohibitor by the State of Illinois and he had an arsenal of weapons and ammunition. 

I had an order of protection against him, informed authorities about his gun collection, repeatedly asked for help getting the guns out of the house and was repeatedly denied.

A suit was filed on my behalf in federal court on the basis of sex discrimination.  Just to clarify, I have always considered myself a conservative and have never ridden on the coattails of any kind of discriminatory status.  However, this suit was brought forth based on the fact that law enforcement stated that I was “crying wolf” when requesting help, that law enforcement refused to remove the weapons stating that “as long as my husband’s name was on the title the house they would do nothing,” among other things.  These accusations are further validated by an affidavit from a now retired Illinois State Police officer who I reached out to for assistance.

We received a very favorable ruling at the district level that this case had merit and could proceed.  The State of Illinois then filed an Interlocutory Appeal at the 7th Circuit Appellate Court claiming that there were no legal grounds for the case to be brought forward.  Last September, each side was allotted 15 minutes to present their respective argument as to why the case should or should not go forth.

Earlier this week, we received a ruling . . . almost one year afterwards.  We lost at the 7th Circuit.

To further magnify the gravity of this outcome, it should be known that Illinois has some of the strictest gun laws in the country; Illinois (namely Chicago) has some of the highest gun violence stats in the country; and more specifically and in my particular case, when authorities are made aware of an illegal gun collection they turn their backs and aren’t held accountable.

What happened to my family was a travesty.  And now I feel as if our lives are so insignificant; we really don’t matter and we are left to be nothing more than a casualty of the system. I’m still trying to process this outcome and Judge Easterbrook’s decision and summary.

We have a very, very serious societal problem.  Until law enforcement, the judiciary system, mental health providers, and caregivers have a productive dialogue and work together toward change, we will continue to pick up the pieces from tragic shootings, unnecessary deaths and insurmountable grief.  

Yes, more Gabby Gifford’s, more Sandy Hooks, more Aurora Colorado’s and more Stephanie Bond’s.

Wake Up America!



Monday, August 26, 2013

Club W


I remember the first time that I had to write out the word WIDOW.  I was lying in the hospital filling out paper work. This was an identity that I couldn’t even imagine embracing.  The reality of my new status made me ill, and I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t finish the task at hand. 

Sometime shortly afterwards, I received a very touching note from a cousin who had lost her husband several years before I did.  It spoke to me like nothing else and I have never forgotten how meaningful those simple words of compassion were to me at the time.

“I continue to pray for you.  You are part of a club now that I was in (being a widow).  Regardless, of how you got there, it still is something that takes a lot of adjustment.  You have more to deal with than I can ever imagine, but the best thing you can do  . . . is take care of you, be patient and let God take charge.  I may not see you often, but think of you and your family.  I love you.  If you ever need anything or just want to talk, please give me a call.”

Over the past several years, I have come to know other members of this club and appreciate how very precious each and every one of us are.  We were all initiated by a different set of circumstances, and yet there are astounding similarities in how we try to adapt and live with our new situation. 

Publicly, we can be bold and brave and we look as if we totally have it together. Privately, we still cry, grieve and crumble. 

Publicly, we speak of God, love, faith and hope; privately we beg for companionship, hurt from loneliness and exist in a state of disbelief that our this is how our lives turned out.  We leave the TV on all night because then we don’t have deal with the sound of nothing next to us when the lights are turned off. 

We all joined at different times – some have been in for 2 years, some for 5 years and some for 10 but for all of those in Club W, we share a number of commonalities.

  • Membership came at a very high price.
  • People always tell us how strong we are and yet most fail to see the fragility of our very existence.
  • For those of that are too young to have gone through initiation, it can be socially awkward, as we don’t really “fit” in like we used to - when we were married with a spouse.
  • Our faith ultimately carries us through. 
  • Yet, we are far from leading perfect lives; we often times fail to walk the straight and narrow because we are guided by grief and pain.
  • Our children took care of us when we were in the depths of grief. They shouldn’t have had to but they did because we couldn’t take care of ourselves. Because of this, their innocence was lost and they were forced to grow up in a way that is simply unfair.
  • Our parents took care of us and they shouldn’t have had to do this either. They raised us to be strong independent women and they should now be enjoying the fruits of their labor. They grieved for us and they too suffered through their worry and pain for us.
  • Healing isn’t a linear path and our friends and families have a hard time understanding this sometimes.
  • And most significantly, we will never, never, never, ever be the same as we were before.