It’s obvious to me now that any thoughts of doing this blog in chronological order are out the window. There’s the past, there’s present day events, and there’s all the years in between. Any thought of this flowing like one long story in a book, will have to be forgotten. I still intend to go back and pick up the actual “story” at some point soon, but it’s become clear I need to surrender to the concept of a true blog, and let go of the pressure I’ve put on myself.
Again, thoughts are scattered about in contrasting color. Of course they’re all over the place. How could they not be? So let them fall where they may.
Yesterday was brutal. For weeks I’ve allowing myself to recall, to even re-live, this one unyielding event that spans three decades of my life. And suddenly, here we are. The day countless juries had called for. I can’t begin to express the different things going through my mind, or how many times I found myself swinging wildly between equally intense emotions. It was all very out-of-body.
As everyone who is following the Oscar Ray Bolin Jr. story knows, he was executed last night at 10:16 pm, after a 4-hour delay. What I felt in that moment, those hours, what I’m feeling today, are all things I’d really love to share. But before I go there, I’m going to share with you exactly what I was feeling in the 11th hour. Sometime between 4-5 pm EST, before the scheduled 6 pm execution.
I have not kept up with the press coverage leading up to this event. I had not, nor have I still, seen the interview with Oscar Ray Bolin others have told me is out there. But I did take the time around mid-day yesterday to glance at a couple articles, and stumbled across comments made by Kay Reeves, the mother of Teri Lynn Mathews. In it she said that if Oscar Ray Bolin Jr. were to confess, to offer an apology for killing her daughter, perhaps then, and only then, may they find some forgiveness. But only if that confession took place. Her words gnawed deeply at me for hours, and in the late afternoon with death looming, in a state of near-panic, I got it in my head to do something that might seem a little bat-shit crazy to most others. But not to those who know me best, and understand that nothing I do is ever limited or governed by rules, except the ones I impose on myself when faced with doing what I think is right in an unjust world.
Over the years, there have been brief moments when in my own mind, I’ve imagined what I would say to the monster who derailed my life, given the opportunity. Never really believing that day would come to fruition, nor that I’d ever allow it to. What is there to say to a serial killer who refuses to face his own dark side? Nothing. But after reading the words of this mother, a woman I’d come to know personally all those years before, and with whom I’ve carried an unbreakable connection to in my heart ever since, I felt a sudden and powerful urge to ask the questions I have always asked in my own mind, and to relay some parting words of my own. Logistically, I knew it was too late for any such wild thoughts, but that didn’t stop me from having them. Or trying.
I composed an email of what I would say to Oscar Ray Bolin, if given the chance. In the event that in a fair and just world, I’d be able to get them into the hands of the proper authorities to read. In the event that, if there were such a world, he’d answer them.
Late yesterday afternoon, I’d been given the name of a seasoned reporter who was invited to be a part of the execution process. He was already there at the prison, no longer with access to the prisoner. Everything in my mind told me what I was doing was a complete waste of time, both because time had already run out, and because he would never confess or apologize anyway. But with an urgency I can only describe as a sudden and deep need to come through for these mom’s, after so many years of silence, scrambling, I called the station the reporter was affiliated with. Thinking, if the press still had access, if anyone did, maybe my statements could be read. He was unreachable, but they put my call through to a reporter on the scene, who ironically, turned out to be the woman who did the last interview with Oscar Ray Bolin Jr. As the words were coming out of my mouth, my voice of reason kicked in. Obviously, this is something I should have thought through hours before. Or days. But I hadn’t had the thought so powerfully until this exact moment in time. Which is the way most powerful thoughts come to us in life.
Undeterred by the voice of reason, and with the full support of the man sitting by my side, the same man who had loved me on that dark November night in 1987, I called the Florida Dept. of Corrections. I asked them if it was too late for anyone in an official capacity there to read a statement to Bolin. Knowing the answer. Of course it was too late. And that thought dies with him.
Here is that unsent email:
While this request may seem unusual, on behalf of all the families gathered, on behalf of myself and my own family, I have two questions and one statement for Oscar Ray Bolin Jr. I was hoping someone might be able to read them to him.
– Why am I alive?
– On the night of November 17/18th 1987, did you fire that gun at me after telling me to run in that dark field in Pennsylvania?
Statement to Oscar Ray Bolin Jr:
Own your own story. Confess to these crimes. You have nothing to lose at this point. You literally don’t. Teri Lynn Mathews, Natalie Blanche Holley, Stephanie Ann Collins…they did not deserve to meet such a cruel and twisted fate. Neither did I. And if the answer to question #2 is “No”, perhaps somewhere inside you know this. I don’t know why you grabbed me that cold November night. I don’t know why you terrorized that girl of just twenty. I don’t know why you had the urge to brutalize people who had never harmed you. I don’t know what happened in your childhood to darken your soul. But I’m appealing to whatever part of that soul is human — do the right thing and own this. Think about it. You won’t be here to see how this plays out. This is no longer about you. Your legacy will not be one of an innocent man put to death. You’re not innocent. Do the only right thing in this moment. Acknowledge that you are the one who killed these beautiful souls, and after three torturous decades, ask those who have loved them for forgiveness. Then be at peace with knowing that may never happen. Just do the right thing.
~ After the execution, I viewed the comments given by Kay Reeves during a press conference. Her broken heart shredded the one that beats inside of me. On a level I’ll never be able to fully articulate. I felt 28 years of emotions hit me like a freight train. With all that I am, I hope that she, the other mom’s, and all who have ever been affected by this unusually cruel, prolonged collection of tragedies, have found some measure of peace.
But as I headed off to try to grab some much-needed sleep myself last night, I recognized that it may be awhile yet before I ever find mine.
Through the years, there have no doubt been some who’ve questioned where the anger I carry around like a tiny rock, inside of what is otherwise a beautiful heart, comes from. Or why I have little patience for those who have intentionally wounded me. Perhaps as this unfolds, a little insight into that may be gained. Or not. But let me be clear, when I finish with this story, when the dust settles and the smoke clears, and soon, I fully intend to eradicate that rock, once and for all.
And never look back.