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Grief and More Grief.
Three men.
My husband's half brother.
My father-in-law.
My new husband.
One will die tomorrow.
One will collapse tomorrow.
And one will clean up the mess.
One is in the hell of death row.
One is in an alcohol deadened hell.
And one has gone to their hell to try everything possible to keep everyone alive.
My father-in-law's house is dishevelled by grief.
Nothing works- there is no running water.
There is no food. The dogs were forgotten.
The death-row girlfriend is there. She is a heroin addict, now 5 days off the smack, suffering through cold turkey withdrawal.
My
husband drove halfway across the country to do what he can. Feed the
dogs. Feed the people. Get the girl to a methadone clinic. Call the
lawyers, find witnesses. File affadavits. Tilt against the windmill.
My
heart breaks to hear my husband as he tells of all his efforts to get a
stay. When he tells of the misery in that house. The misery everywhere.
All is grief and misery. And exhaustion.
It is as if some kind
of nuclear disaster happened 10 years ago. A man was killed, and he
left behind a grieving wife and lovely children. Their life is forever
ripped apart. And the contamination spreads. The execution that is
meant to provide their closure will mean another family flayed alive
and left to bleed.
Along with my brother-in-law, his family is killed. His mother is dead. His father will be soon.
Who will my husband be when he gets home from this hopeless mission?
How will we put our lives back together? Our marriage?
How will we pay off the lawyers and the funeral home, since it falls to us?
Only God knows, and only God can help with this mess.
I
sit here halfway across the country, and try to be the comfort for my
husband when he calls from hell. The area code in hell, by the way, is
830.
Pray for us. All of us. Now and in the weeks to come. |
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| "Always fart on your dog. They know how to appreciate it."
-Rolfhildaspawn
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