Blog Archives - Wilma Derksen

Capacity to Touch the Sky

3/31/2023

My relationship with God came from a place of nothingness. I was a personified nondescript. I was a middle child of a family of five children - the third daughter before the king son.

I was born during an extremely stressful time, the year of the flood when the Fraser River spilled its banks and covered the Greendale community with a layer of mud - six feet high

I am told that I cried for the first six months of my life. I didn’t understand this until I heard Gabor Matte's story and how he too was a crying baby - so much so that his mother took him to the doctor and the doctor told her that all the Jewish babies were crying because of what was happening in Germany at the time. Living through a flood with three little preschool children would have been highly stressful for my mother.

I was also the middle child in a set of cousin triplets and had to share my birthday with two other cousins - one, a miniature Marilyn Monroe, was born the day before me, and a king boy cousin was born the day after. We always had big birthday parties in the summertime but Marilyn Monroe always stole the show which I didn't mind. She always included me in her own way.

I was an average student, not athletic, no specific talents.

I was truly a personified nondescript.

But something did notice me.

My daily chore was to take out the garbage for which I had to walk through the dark night to the edge of the garden. There were no yard lights. It was always pitch black with all kinds of things lurking.

One evening as I dropped the garbage into the big oil drum we used for recycling, I looked up at the stars. They weren't far away - in fact they moved down - and twinkled at me. I felt the presence of the stars noticing me - hovering close - delighting in me.

They say it’s a sparkle of love in the mother's eyes as she looks at her new born baby that bonds them forever in a relationship of secure love.

I was seven years old when I first felt that sparkle of love focusing on me - and only on me.

I was filled with a deep abiding warmth - a memory that has lasted to this day,

Over the years, I’ve had other moments that I call my God moments. Those unexplained coincidences, those highlighted verses in the Bible, that hovering moon looking through my window, that special insight of a friend, that shiver of inspiration when a man of God preaches... there are many God moments.

Our spirit is designed to recognize its creator!

Humans were created in the image of God. True freedom, then, is not found in moving away from that image but only in living it out.” -― Augustine of Hippo

Develop a Vision

3/30/2023

Ten years after the murder, I burned out.

I was tired of journalism, tired of victim issues and decided money would solve it all. I decided to go into Real Estate. I took the course, I received my license, found a wonderful business partner and I thought I was set. The housing market looked promising.

My first house was being sold by an elderly couple moving into an independent living community where they would be looked after… this was their first step in down-sizing.

I sensed their grief, their anguish and their fears as we set up that first show.

It went really well. A promising buyer came through the door, a man, middle aged, who asked all the right questions as we toured the first floor. Then we went into the basement…. Somehow we all felt a little more vulnerable in the basement – unfinished for the most part

And that’s when the man cleared his throat. “By the way,” he looked directly at me, excluding the owners very deliberately in his body language and eyes. “I haven’t come to buy a house.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see the startled reaction of the owner of the house. Instant anger.

The buyer continued. “I’ve come to see you.” He said looking directly into my eyes with an astonishing fierceness.

I was confused. “Me?”

“Yes – my daughter was murdered as well."

Wrong place. Wrong time.

I glanced at the owners – their eyes were huge. “Who are you?” they asked staring at me.

The stranger told them who I was. Apparently I wasn’t a real estate agent - I was a mother of a murdered child.

I ushered him out quickly, making arrangements to meet with him later, then turned my attention to the disappointed owners. They were inconsolable.

I had to agree with them. It was a complete disaster. I was a complete disaster. I attracted the wrong attention. I was limited. I was resentful.

I had to revision my life - take stock - forgive. Change direction.

I resigned shortly after

If you live long enough, you'll make mistakes. But if you learn from them, you'll be a better person. It's how you handle adversity, not how it affects you. The main thing is never quit, never quit, never quit. - William J. Clinton

 I then applied to MCCC and became director of the Victims' Voice program....shortly after.

Imagining Forgiveness

3/28/2023

Six months after the acquittal, I found myself in Ottawa walking down Laurier Avenue to the Lord Elgin Hotel to meet a stranger - a meeting that had been suggested by the organizers of a conference I was attending and had been arranged by them

We met at the Grill 41 Restaurant and Bar, a stone’s throw away from the Rideau Canal, Confederation Park and Parliament Hill. A warm, modern atmosphere that provided the perfect setting for this quiet meeting.

He was sitting by the window when I arrived, already with a cup of coffee – a sweet, kind-looking man. Bookish, I thought, as I slid into the booth.

We were both nervous – being forced to talk to each other this way.

We talked about the ice storm that had moved through the city earlier that week. We talked about the organizer, the arranger of this meeting, as we both ordered muffins – banana and carrot.

Then I started asking questions – it seems to be my role in life.

“When did it happen?”

“Early 80s,” he said.

Then we paused.

“This feels as if I am meeting the mother of my victim – the offences are similar,” he said carefully.

With just a few questions, I realize that he has been following all my blogs, my books, starting with my very first book about Candace.

He had spent 36 years in prison. “I was in deep denial for the first 17,” he explains.

There were some sexual assaults before the murder of a 16-year-old girl. After a small party, she had left with him and then rejected his advances. He strangled her.

“My life had no value so I didn’t think anyone’s life had value. I felt I deserved it. I felt entitled. She was denying me something that was mine.”

He is open about his mental health treatment. He has been diagnosed with sexual disorders, sadism and hebephilia. He is attracted to pubescent and adolescent girls. Borderline personality. “I process things differently – always have ever since age six.”

When he first got out of jail, his social anxiety was acute. “I was scared to get on a full bus of people. I couldn’t even walk down the middle of a sidewalk. I was always on the edge.”

He is now on day parole for two years and has served one year. “I don’t want to kill anyone ever – I don’t want to go back to prison. I am motivated.”

It’s hard to imagine him wanting to kill anyone – he seems so timid, gentle and frail.

“I can’t ever forget maintenance – the weekly meetings. I am building the person I want to be – I like the person I am today.”

He has had a great deal of psychological help - starting with a 12-sessions Victim Impact program that consisted of three parts: accountability, study of ten different crimes, and forgiveness.

He lingers on forgiveness. He needed to forgive his upbringing, himself, and the victims who will not forgive him. He has worked hard to change himself. He says that he has fought hard against being held hostage by their anger.

He says he has read Confronting the Horror, my book – which is worn and tattered with use.

“You know what hit me the most?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“In your book you wrote that when your second daughter became the same age as Candace, you had to move… whether you were ready or not. You moved.”

I smile…. It’s always the little stories that impact others.

I ask him what the hardest step in his choice to change had been. He says it was moving through his denial.

“Denial doesn’t keep the community safe,” he says. “Prevention comes with healing.”
That resonates with me. I worry about the denial.

He says that his one dream is to move into a little bachelor suite – with a bed, and an easy chair of his own. All his life, he has wanted to have his own place so that he could feel safe.

I make the connection – that is why the story of us being forced to move sticks with him.
He continues, “I was what I did. But now I choose to be otherwise. No more victims. No one is disposable,” he says over and over throughout the conversation.

He has been offered a simple job cleaning a church. His eyes sparkle with anticipation. “Oh yes – I just want to give back. I want to pay taxes.”

I smile. I’ve met very few people who want to pay taxes.

“To be a man of character is my wish.”

It is my wish for him as well.

Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and, therefore, the foundation of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared. ~J.K. Rowling

If you have been taking note - it's amazing how many times I was faced with the "enemy personified." There was my own imagined shooting of ten child murderers, the Lifers Lounge, the Most Wanted, the King Pin, the accused in the courtroom, the photo on my book shelf. the teen killer in Ottawa - and the $8 million lawsuit filed against the Justice system - just to name a few. Each was an encounter that sent me spinning. Whether imagined, felt or real - it didn't matter. It was a crisis. Forgiveness is a lifetime commitment.

Conscience be your guide

3/28/2023

As you know we decided right from the beginning that we would forgive - but then 22 years they arrested a man suspected of killing Candace.

I remember the day we went to the press conference to be with the police when they announced it to the world.

I still remember getting out of the car at the police station ready to go in when I found that my ankle hurt - I almost couldn’t walk to the door. This strange ache stayed with me for a few days and I couldn’t figure it out and then it hit me that perhaps I had hidden anger.

I opened up the Bible to see what I could hear from God. The verse in the Bible read - love your enemies pray for them that hurt you.

It hit home. I knew that my conscience, my entire body, was telling me that I was out of sync. I was churning with hidden anger.

So I very deliberately took a picture of the person who was considered a suspect and put it on my bookshelf then I prayed for him every day after that. There’s something about prayer that demands us to clean everything up - to be of one mind and forgive. The ache in my leg went away.

When anger and unforgiveness took control of Cliff - he chose to memorize the entire book of Jonah to find his freedom.

We think that its easy to maintain a sensitive pure conscience, but it isn't.

Conscience is the still small voice within. It is quiet - it is peaceful. It values a sense of fairness honesty and respect.

There is a mass of evidence that shows that conscience, this moral sense- this inner light, is a universal phenomenon. The spiritual or moral nature of people is independent of religion or any particularly rigid religious approach culture, geography, nationality, or race. Conscience is the moral law within. We are born with an innate sense of fairness and justice, a sense of right and wrong, what is kind and what is unkind, and what is true and what is false.

This moral conscience allows us to live with integrity – love with loyalty – think positively and choose a good life.

“It is sometimes easier to fight the world than to wrestle with your conscience.” Matshona Dhliwayo

Sting Operation

3/27/2023

We were in an odd mood. I must have been going through my empty nest syndrome and nostalgic for our hippie years, because when we were presented with the opportunity to take a road trip across western Canada to a wedding in BC we decided to take our old white van, and camp. We loaded it with an old mattress, some sleeping bags and our suit cases and headed out.

After the wedding, driving back we decided to travel through the states. We never did sleep in the van. We discovered that it’s hard to pretend to be poor when you have enough money for the convenience of a motel. But we did love the old van – and the pretense of carefree living.

At the time, Cliff was reading a book about the left/right brain so while I was taking my turn driving, he was reading to me.

We were intrigued with the power of the right brain, but were astounded to learn the inherent conflict between the two sides of our brain

Cliff had just finished reading about a case study documenting this conflict and we were discussing the findings, when I noticed red lights flashing signaling me to pull over. I pulled into a parking lot.

The policeman seemed really surprised to see me. “Were you driving?” he asked looking for someone else in the van.

I said. “Yes.”

“But you were driving so erratically. I was following you right through town and you didn’t stop. And you were driving fast one minute – slow the next.”

I laughed. “No doubt.”

I explained that I never did take the time to calculate the difference between miles per hour into kilometers so I didn’t pay much attention to speed limits besides I was listening to my husband read from a book.

By this time Cliff joined our conversation and we were just chatting it up and we had a good time with him. He even talked about his wife… and some of their discussions.

Finally he pulled out his little book. “I have to give you a ticket,” he apologized. “Because I have a fleet of cars waiting on the other end of town. Given how you were driving we thought you were probably high, smuggling drugs, so we prepared a sting operation. The guys will never believe this.”

Cliff took over the driving after that… but we continued to discuss the dynamics of conflict inherent in the world around us and inside of us.

It was one of those moments we would never forget.

There are demons and angel. There is the negativity bias and a positive optimism. In the beginning of time there was the tree of good and evil. It is a reality.

There always seems to be two choices - there’s the narrow way and the highway. There is the road less traveled. It seems to be well documented. There is the reptilian brain - survival method and then there is the counterintuitive way or generosity and the common good.

Without going into much detail about - we just know there is a choice.

We can adhere to speed limits or ignore them.

I was in the left brain. Physically emotionally mentally and spiritually. And I got into big trouble. Paying that American ticket was a headache as well.

But what if we had been caught in sting. Guns drawn. Forced to lie on the pavement. Cuffed. There is the good and the negative. I think you can say that the police man forgave us.

We are entering into the spiritual quadrant – the first characteristic and responsibility of this – is “choice.”

We do have the ability to choose.

“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
― Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Third Floor - learning

3/25/2023

I glance outside. I see the sun reflecting off of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. I remember climbing to the top of the Museum - experiencing that glass finger pointing upward, a dramatic symbol of hope.

It’s a elegant mountain encased in glass.

Perfect.

If I had 100 billion dollars, I’d borrow me some of the design ideas from the Museum and build me a Healing Forgiveness Centre close to the Winnipeg airport on the way to Stony Mountain.

Here, I'm going to dream a bit. What would an ideal Forgiveness/Healing Centre look like? We have already designed the first and the second floor....

The third floor is about healing the traumatized brain - to address the needs of the six functions of the mind - attention, human intelligence, problem solving, language, memory and executive function.

The elevator door of the third floor opens to a dancing Elf - a person dressed in costume -- smiling innocently as he gestures a gracious welcome.

Humor is extremally important to healing the entire person and it starts with the largest part of the brain. According to researchers, the frontal lobe is the first region of the brain to jump into action when processing humorous content.

So the frontal lobe serves as the gatekeeper -the of humorist - determining whether we will get the joke or not. Then, it passes that information along to other related social areas of the brain. On this floor we want to engage the frontal lobe. It is a must! Unexpectedly this floor would be characterized by the laughter, the giggle, the smiles of a mind being released into the "ah ha" moments of life.

The dancing Elf leads everyone to a games room complete with every puzzle there is.... This helps to focus the scattered brain. There are other game tables hosted by the gentlest of souls to help the astute gamer as well as to detect the insecure gamer - guiding them into less challenging games. There is always a sports team worth watching - anything to help focus the mind.

Once the mind is calm - the Elf disappears and a tiny costumed professor with a wry sense of humor and squeaky voice takes over as a tour guide.

He opens the doors to a lecture hall featuring a series on every subject a traumatized unforgiving brain would want to access. Everyone would have a choice to sit alone in a booth and have a personal presentation or join the general audience in a mini lecture theatre or classroom type setting. Everyone would also have choices as to Ted TX talks, podcasts and documentaries on every aspect of forgiveness. All of these talks would be hosted by therapists skilled in cognitive therapy to guide the discussions and to help rewire the brain.

Knowing that we have a 80 to 20 negativity bias that is amplified when we encounter an injustice in our own lives - all input from this point on is geared to enhance the positive.

If the lecture style gets too tedious or too heavy there is always a choice of comedy shows, live performances gently poking fun at the brain. These performances would capture the role of the six functions of the brain, clarify them and teach how to manage them.

Steeped in fresh learnings, the guests would then enter into the justice arena the difficult problem solving arena that would resemble a court room.

There would be two parts to this justice-making process. First the case would need to be defined in legalities. There would be a crash course on Journalism and the 5W's (who?where? when? what? why?)

This would include some basic skills in coping with the media and public relations. What is justice personally and publicly? This would inevitably lead to a serious discussion of whether there is true justice and how do we forgive the systems that will fail us?

Then a Judge garbed in a clownish black robe with gavel in hand would act as a consult to creating healthy boundaries - teaching how to navigate with the mind serious justice issues about safety and prevention. Rather than giving the floor to the reptilian brain, which has been laid to rest on the second floor, this Judge would speak to soft boundaries, generous discipline, affirmative action and the ability to say no with no trace of rejection only grace and care. Everyone would have a chance to bring their personalized problem to be discussed, debated and creatively solved.

Because there is no such thing as a "satisfying justice" outcome, this would be followed by a rather dramatic crash course on an "alternative social justice" by getting on a secret elevator to an underground tram to be whisked downtown to a "hands on" soup kitchen. There would be a disguise costume for all volunteers so they would look like they too belong in a homeless center - as they serve soup.

Studies show that a simple act of charity to an unknown stranger can release healing endorphins. (This homeless shelter would be designed similarly to the one I stayed at in Washington D.C. I've toured a few and this one was by far the best - it was safe, huge, spacious, clean and welcoming.)

After returning, everyone would be seated at an oval desk to begin to journal their lives under the guidance of a life-writer encouraging them to manage their traumatized dysfunctional minds by answering simple questions about their life story - putting into context the incidents that need forgiving.

Then there would be another set of rooms for those who need help with organization,  complete with coaches to help create new management styles.

For those who are inclined to hoard - imprisoned with their stuff and who are dealing with complicated memories - there would be an opportunity to memorialize ones life, either through pictures, quilts, or memorabilia either using scrapbooks or computerized ways and means. This would be guided by those who can skillfully undo those deep knots of emotional attachments.

There would be a library staffed with costumed librarians with huge painted smiles on their faces and '"Shh" imprinted on everything for those who need to have a "hands on" feeling when they research. This would also be a place to store all the books written by previous guests who learn to forgive by writing their stories.

The walls of the entire third floor would decorated with electronic screens featuring "one liners" pun jokes to keep everyone smiling. There would be scripted inspirational mind teasers as well. Just a walk through all the rooms decorated with words would be healing.

The absolute climax of it all would be mezzanine floor with a revolving theatre featuring the best "Broadway Show" ever! This show would feature Cliff's story that touches on every trauma possible.

Hidden in the storyline would be the telling of the 15 sculptures and the 15 crippling issues that one faces in the unforgiveable murder of a child - all acted out in a way  that would be both entertaining and enlightening.

It would be the best dramatic production ever - with great music - story tension - character development - leaving the audience on their feet - transfigured by awe and inspired to move through forgiveness to the pure beauty of a mind set free.

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt. - Erma Bombeck

Laughter

3/24/2023

In this blog I have now covered the three quadrants - body. heart and mind. I've shared moments when we were faced with the question - do I wallow or do I forgive? It wasn't always pretty, but both Cliff and I always reminded ourselves to forgive.

The next question - How did we know if we had forgiven?

In our bodies, it shows up in our breathing. If we are panicking, full of fear and unforgiveness - ready to fight, freeze or panic - we found ourselves short of breath - shallow breathing. To forgive is to breathe deeply and enjoy the breath of life.

In our hearts if we s unforgiving, we found ourselves withdrawing, isolated and lonely. We were shut down emotionally. To forgive is to love generously.

In our minds, if we are unforgiving our minds cycle, tunnel and resist anything new. To forgive allows us to be objective and objectivity allows laughter.

Laughter can come at the oddest time. The day of Candace's funeral, they played her song "Friends are Friends Forever" and we just dissolved into tears. After the funeral, we went back to our house with some friends and cried some more. But then at the end of the evening one of our friends started to describe how they wanted to go to bed to sleep but they had purchased a water bed - so popular at that time. She described sleeping - tossing and turning on a sea of water creating her own storm on the high seas. We began to laugh and laugh. It was fun to laugh.

I glanced over and saw someone scowling in the corner and I knew he disapproved. Later on we found out that he told everyone that we didn’t care.

At the trials, which really challenged us mentally, I mostly remember the laughter. We weren't crying during our lunch breaks - we were laughing and giggling. Life - at its most intense moments needs to be handled with the joy of a good laugh.

I think this became very clear to Cliff and I as we were getting older. Even when he was dying of cancer, we would laugh together. "We've had quite a ride," we said as we remembered our desperate lows and our crazy highs. "What a roller coaster ride!" And then we'd giggle. Cliff loved to chuckle at it all.

Whether we were laughing or crying didn't really matter as long as we were engaging with it - embracing it and "letting it go."

I“If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you.” ― George Bernard Shaw

33 Candles - Executive Function

3/23/2023

As the “verdict day” approached of the second trial, I knew this might be the ending of all endings. It would be memorable if it was good or bad.

I had invited guests to meet at our house to debrief after but I had no idea how to plan for a verdict I could not predict - would he be declared "guilty or not guilty?"

I thought of lighting an eternal flame – something that would burn forever to commemorate Candace. But then I thought of the expense, the attention and the management of such a flame that might become onerous. We didn’t need to saddle anyone with another burden.

There is simply nothing as magical as candles and that little bit of fire at the end of the wick….

We would need 33 candles.

Thirty-three tells a story. Numbers have meanings. There was the 7-week search, the 7-year trial process from the first trial to the end of the second. There was the date, January 17, the day Candace’s body was found, the day the first trial started, and the second trial as well.

I could go on and on – but suffice it to say that the number 33 has significance for me – the number represents an ending and a profound new beginning.

But that's where I stopped functioning.... I could think of nothing else. I made all kinds of mistakes in the invitations, in food prep and I even laid out 31 candles instead of 33.

Finally the day came and the verdict - "Acquittal."

When the Judge said the word, our Executive Function of our brain panicked. Both Cliff and I wanted to bolt.

But before we left the Law Courts Building, we still had to face the media that were waiting just outside the main doors.

We could have ducked out the side door – we knew that the security guards would let us do that. But we had never done that before – why should we now?

The media were important in getting the true story out. As frightening as their questions were – they were honest journalists.

We stepped outside the door. There was a bank of cameras and reporters.

The mischievous wind was swirling so they took us to the other side of the building… out of the west wind. The first question came, I looked at Cliff – and he was silent. I knew that he was at a real disadvantage, his executive functioning brain needs time to process. When my brain isn't functioning, my heart takes over and the words flow -- but who knows what I'll say.

The ride home was long as we processed it all again and again. There were those second thoughts, and then those third thoughts – fourth, fourth, fifth and then way down to twenty.

It was a thought trek of a million seconds, minutes that spanned 33 years.

The worst fear was: had the acquittal put us back to square one? Would we have to start another 33-year journey? Would the suspicion come back? Would all those public questions now intensify? Would anyone still want us around? Had our social equity value plummeted to nothing? Was this a failure – a public embarrassment for all of us, the Crowns, our friends included?

For the last ten years, the justice process had taken control of our lives, time, schedule, thoughts and organization. Now we were floating like a balloon - released into the clear blue sky ready to burst as it sailed towards the blistering hot sun.

Our minds were scrambled.

After the verdict we went home and waited. The journalist with their cameras came first and politely interviewed our friends as they came in. All our friends found beautiful and comforting things to say.

The candles glowed.

The conversation flowed.

The stories were as bright and warm as the candles.

After our guests had gone home, Cliff and I shut off all the lights and sat in the magical candlelight that makes everything beautiful.

We sat there in the dark staring at those candles – now they were no longer simple white unscented candles. They were 33 candles blessed by friends.

If those candles weren’t there, we would have been staring into the dark.

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. – Haruki Murakami

Some have asked for more information regarding these brain functions - so I have gone back and added an application to the last six blogs.

Executive Function is that which controls by self regulation, self-control, time management and organization.

Forgiveness allow us to push past the fear of making a mistake as we plan and organize our day. To plan for something as uncertain as a verdict after a decade long process, was daunting. There is such a thing as anticipatory forgiveness to offset anticipatory anxiety.

First time to see "Him" - Function of Memory

3/21/2023

There are some memories that will not fade. The mind wants to sort all of them into time - into past and present - but there are some intrusive memories that refuse to be archived.

The first day of the preliminary hearing we woke up to the rumblings of a summer thunderstorm as fierce as anyone could imagine. Flashes of lightning, cracks of thunder startled us over and over again. It was an eerie summer version of the storm that had come on the day we had buried Candace.

The hearing was held in a small room, no bigger than a school classroom, in the new part of the Law Courts Building. The neutral beige room was furnished in the same way as all the courtrooms. The judge’s desk was elevated in front, the box for the accused was to the right of it. The 20 chairs upholstered in dark fuchsia that comprised the visitors’ gallery were against the back wall. I decided to sit in the first row.

No sooner seated when the side door opens, and the accused enters, shackled. It is the one moment I’ve always dreaded. Am I meeting him? Is this the meeting I’ve anticipated?

I was also surprised at his general appearance. At home, I had two pictures of him that we had printed off the Internet; one was of him when he was younger with long, stringy hair – the proverbial “bad boy” image, the other as a middle-aged man, balding, with glasses and a moustache.

In the box he looked like neither one. I thought he looked less than human. I was seeing him through my emotions.

Then they brought in Candace’s clothes as evidence – the clothes she had been wearing when she disappeared 25 years ago.

My heart stalled. I could feel myself begin to perspire.

Winnipeg Police Service Inspector took the stand and began to give his testimony. “The deceased was wearing a high school type jacket,” he began. “It was a blue body with red burgundy-colored sleeves and wool cuffs. The deceased was also wearing blue jeans with… and on her feet there were white socks.” Someone brought in more evidence, plastic bags of evidence, containing her jacket, her jeans. It felt as if she had walked into the room.
I could feel her smile, feel her warmth, and her innocence.

I was filled with unspeakable grief and longing for those days – when we were so young and light-hearted, all of us, so filled with hope. Massive spasms of grief rocked the room. I began to shake. I felt I was losing control. I struggled. I started counting. I find I can gain control if I distract myself by counting. I counted and counted but nothing seemed to counter the trembling, my body warm, aching with emotion. I couldn’t let them see me cry. I had to be still, perfectly still.

And then I looked up –his eyes were fastened on me.

It was in that state of naked grief that I stared into the eyes of the sexual predator – the man accused of causing the death of my daughter.

I felt completely undone, vulnerable, with no armor available. It seemed he had access to the inner torture of my soul – and I was defenseless. The power of the look felt like a violation… like an intrusion in and of itself….

I was facing an unforgettable -moment that would turn intrusive.

It burned in my mind -- I could see it in everything - especially when I closed my eyes at night.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant. - Salvador Dali

Some have asked for more information regarding these brain functions - so I have gone back and added an application to the last five blogs.

Application.
Memory is the faculty of the brain by which data or information is encoded, stored, and retrieved when needed. Memory is often understood as an informational processing system with explicit and implicit functioning that is made up of a sensory processor, short-term (or working) memory, and long-term memory.

Trauma will naturally keep the entire traumatic experience in the present memory until there is a solution. The present memory has a limited space and can become crowded. This is why we have a natural chapter ending at the end of every day in which- while we are sleeping - our brain files the memories away. It's called dreaming.

Forgiving the events of the day allows us to file away trauma that isn't resolved. It has it's own filing cabinet and labeling system that allows for injustices, fears and hurt feelings to be stored in files that are called, "faith, hope, and love."

Human Intelligence DNA

3/20/2023

We were certainly motivated. This trial was about our daughter so we wanted to master every detail.

We wanted to at least understand the experts.

When the molecular biologist and geneticist who was the full-time lab director of Molecular World responsible for the collection and analysis of the DNA found at the crime scene, began to testify on the stand, I knew I was in trouble. Science was my least favorite subject in school.

He gave the background. Apparently, Mitochondrial DNA testing traces maternal lineage and is often used for ancient or degraded DNA including the kind that’s found inside a hair shaft, but it can’t identify a particular individual. The mitochondrial DNA profile the accused had was so common that one out of 11 Caucasian people are likely to share it.

The test on the hairs at the crime scene using mitochondrial DNA analysis also “couldn’t exclude” the accused, he said. They did exclude three other potential suspects, but the tests weren’t specific enough to point conclusively to the accused.

“We found only the major component reliable not the trace,” Chahal said.

The majority of the DNA found on the twine was linked to the accused after his blood samples were compared, Chahal said.

There was a one in 50 million chance that a randomly selected individual – someone other than the accused or one of his relatives – could have contributed to the majority DNA profile analysis developed from the twine, he testified.

Because of his thick accent, the Crown counsel Himmelman had him speak slowly and repeat things.

Dr. Chahal remained cool and unruffled throughout the three days of testimony including the 2 ½ days of cross-examination.

The Defence was relentless in his cross-examination. What we thought we had learned was shredded.

At one point again, the Judge said, “I’m having trouble understanding. This is very technical. I’ll just keep listening.”

By end of day the Judge wasn’t writing anymore.

If the Judge couldn't get it, understand it -- how were we suppose to master it?

It was hard not to feel stupid, inadequate - and ignorant.

“You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.
― Harlan Ellison

Application:
Human intelligence is the mental quality that consists of the abilities to learn from experience, adapt to new situations, understand and handle abstract concepts, and use knowledge to manipulate one’s environment.

Forgiveness remains curious. It does not panic in the face of a newness but sees new information as a continuing challenge. It rejects labels of ignorance and allows us to grow in not only the knowledge but wisdom in the face of new experiences.