Sometimes life has a way of testing your limits to the
extent that you sometimes feel perhaps God is pushing you towards your breaking
point. Such was the case for me just a little over a year ago. Having survived
a series of, what I can only sum up as, bad circumstances over a period of five
years. Just to give you some idea of what I was dealing with: August 2007 –
divorced; October 2007 – Stress-induced stroke; April 2008 – 1st
home invasion; May 2008 – heart surgery; August 2009 – gallbladder eruption; March
2010 – 2nd home invasion; December 2010 – house surrounded by swat team who were looking for a fugitive, my son caught in gun fire. Then
just when I thought it could not get any worst, 2011 brought the mother lode of
emotional strain which collided with my already fragile psyche, including but not limited to, another home invasion three days before Christmas.
It was May 17th 2011, I remember that day like it
was just yesterday. For one thing I had learned earlier that day that my
employer of 5 years was letting me go in July. The news didn't come as a total surprise
to me, as there were rumors circulating among the employees that the company was downsizing to try
and stop the bleeding after filing for bankruptcy the year before. So, I was not
panicking because I prided myself with the fact that I made good, sound
financial decisions over the years. So while I was not “rich” by anyone’s standard, I had enough tucked away for a rainy
day. Besides, I knew how to tighten my belt when the need arise; after all I
had raised two kids on a shoestring budget without public assistance. Surely I could
survive this period of unemployment. Also, if my past experience with
unemployment was any indicator, I knew I could take comfort that it would not
be long before I was gainfully employed again as I had marketable skills.
So while I spent the day making preparation for what was
inevitably the beginning of my end with the company, I was not prepared for how
that day would end.
It was about a little after 5:30 pm and I was wrapping up my
day when my cell phone rang. After I answered it on the first ring, I heard a
strange man asking me if this was Ms. Gore.
I was thrown off by the seemingly somber tone and I knew almost
immediately this was no “social” call. I remember saying, “yes, this is she.”
Only to have the man on the other end of the line identify himself by name and then as a
DeKalb County Police Officer. He then proceeded
to tell me that my son was attacked while walking home from school and was
beaten unconscious within inches of his life. My heart tightened in my chest as
my fingers gripped the phone so tightly that they would later ache as the blood
seemed to cease circulating in my veins. My head was spinning and I stood up so
fast that the sudden movement knocked the stack of files off the corner of my
desk unto the floor. My purse followed. I quickly interrupted the Officer’s flow of
sentences with my own questions, “What? When? Why? Is he ok?” All were met with
his repeated statement, “Calm down, calm down. I need to know if he has
insurance. Because of the nature of his head injuries, we may have to airlift
him to Grady.” I dropped back in my chair, not even sure it was in place to
receive me as my weightless body hit it and I felt the air restricted from my
breathing passage. The tears came like a flood and I heard myself sobbing
uncontrollably. Still the Officer was
doing his best to get me to calm down and focus on what he was asking me. I
heard myself say, “Yes, yes, we have insurance. Take him wherever you need to.
Just don’t let my baby die.” I grabbed
my purse off the floor and searched frantically for my keys as I headed for the
door all the while telling the officer I was on my way. He told me to stay near
my phone and he will call me back to let me know where they were taking my son.
I remember thinking, “Is he kidding me? Stay by my phone? I was not even planning
on hanging up.”
It was the longest five minutes I can remember. I was
already in my car and turning onto Mall Parkway by the time the Officer called
me back to let me know they were taking my son to DeKalb Medical on Hillandale because
it was the closest hospital and he had regained consciousness. It was the most
helpless feeling for me as a parent to hear that my child had been viciously
attacked and I was nowhere near him to comfort him. I kept thinking maybe if I
had left work on time I would have been able to intercept the attack as it was
on my way home. That guilty feeling would linger at the back of my mind for months to come. I don’t remember the drive to the hospital, but I do remember
praying the whole time asking God to please spear my son’s life. I think I may
have called a few people to share what was going on, but I am sure that I
pulled into that emergency room parking lot like a bat out of hell.
I literally
ran into the emergency room and straight up to the registration window. I think
there may have been someone standing there but for me, there was nothing more
important than getting to my son. The receptionist understood and quickly
guided me back to where my son was after I shared with her who I was. As I walked into the examination room I saw
my son’s seemingly lifeless body lying on the gurney with his neck strapped
into a brace, his mouth all bloody and swollen from the impact of the blows he
sustained to his face; his blood soaked jeans was cut/thorn all the way up to
his waste on both side by the attending staff in an attempt to gain access to
his injuries to his knees and thighs. As I nervously walked further into the
room I could see the faint rise and fall of his chest indicating he was still
breathing on his own even though he was hooked up to oxygen. As I took his
hand, it scared me when he jumped violently. I quickly realized that he was
reacting to pain that shot through his arm no doubt because I had inadvertently
irritated the bruises on his hand.
I passed my hand over his forehead and asked him if he was
okay, to which he nodded yes. Seems like a silly question to have asked him now
that I think about it, but I guess at the time I desperately needed to know he
was okay. As I stood there looking at my
son that helpless feeling crept back over me again. Here is a child who for the
most part had only one spanking in his entire life, no violent traumatic
experiences to speak of, no broken bones ever, healthy by all accounts to the
point he did not even have a primary care physician because he didn't need one
after he was up-to-date on his shots. Yet despite my best effort to keep him
safe and protected for 18 years, this happens. How do you rationalize what
happened to him when you take into consideration he was a good boy who didn't bother anyone and kept to himself? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of
the Detective entering the room. He introduced himself and said he needed to
ask my son some questions regarding his attackers. I used that time to excuse
myself into the hall way where I sobbed uncontrollably. The attending nurse
brought me a cup of water and tried her best to comfort me, but there was no
comforting me. How could she? Not with my son lying there fighting for his
life.
After what seemed like forever, I regained my composure and re-entered the room as my son
was recounting the events that led up to his attack. From what I gathered my
son was walking home from the bus stop around 5:15 pm. As he was making his way
up Phillips Road, three young guys he did not know, but who probably got off
the Marta bus at the bus stop with him, was walking behind him and making
comments about the fact that his backpack played music. My son said he ignored
them and increased his stride to get away from them. To his dismay they also
increased their stride. Thinking he would be safe if he could make it to the
school grounds because he knew there would be students out front practicing, he broke into a jog, but so did the guys behind him. The last thing he remembers is that he was
approaching a tree by the school grounds when he was hit from behind with a
hard object.
When he came through he was lying on the ground clutching his cellphone
and blood was everywhere. He tried to get up, but his head was spinning. He
experienced a sharp pain and then blocked out again.
From what we can piece together his assailants hit him
several times, with what may have been a bat, rendering him unconscious then
tried to get his backpack but it was pinned under him by the weight of his
body. Not to leave empty handed, they robbed him of two baseball caps and 2 Pac
man ghost pins that a friend had made for him out of Lagos. Truth be told, the stuff they took off my son
was not worth much. In fact, if they had
just simply asked him for the items he would have gladly given it to them. The
extent of his injuries included blunt force head trauma, three fractured front
teeth, which resulted in root canals and crown-implants, and fractures to his ribs and
right knee. It would be months before he
was physically okay, but even now he still has issues with his right knee. However the emotional damage that was
inflicted on him will probably take years, by my best guess, before he improves.
His assailants didn't just rob him of physical stuff, but they also took
something else from my son that day that he has yet to recover – his self-confidence
and sense of security. I remember driving in the car with him a few months
after the incident, and I reached over to smooth his hair as I have done
countless times before, and he flinched.
When he did that, something tore at my heart. I knew it would be a long
time before he was ever himself again. As time went by I noticed a change in
his personality. Gone was that sweet mannered boy I knew so well. In its place
was a harsh, almost thug-like guy I did not know. I tried to get him to seek
professional help, but he refused saying, “I’m okay.” Despite his insistence, I knew better.
Two days after the attack, we sat down with Doug Evans from
Fox 5 News to solicit the public’s help in identifying and finding my son’s
attackers. I was a bit worried that the
story would be portrayed in a negative light but I was quite surprised and
pleased at the final segment that was aired. Doug put a positive spin on an
otherwise negative event by incorporated my son’s love for dancing and even
included a couple of his YouTube video clips in the segment. Within minutes of
the story airing both my son’s and the house phone rang off the hook. Several
of his friends, who had seen the story, called to share useful information that
lead to the identification of all three of my son’s attackers. Apparently they tried to sell
the items they took off my son to students at school the next day. Because
the items were so unique, they were easily identifiable as my son’s. A few
clicks on Facebook not only yielded their name but provided photographs that my
son was able to use to confirm their identity. Unfortunately, finding the assailants
proved to be a much easier task than gaining justice for my son. Because they were
all under the age of 16, the assailants were not arrested, but rather allowed
to remain free until their arraignment.
At the arraignment, unbeknownst to me and despite the fact
that the district attorney had pictures of my son’s injuries, they failed to
share that information with the presiding judge. So at the first hearing, the
assailant who, later it was revealed, turned out to be the master-mind and the
main attacker, pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and offered to turn state
witness against the other two assailants. He was given – are you ready for this?
Only six months of probation. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but the prosecutor assured me it was for the best
to ensure that the other two did not walk in the absence of an eye witness.
Turns out they were only being charged with possession of stolen property. Can you believe that?
At the sentencing hearing for the other two
assailants we were given an opportunity to make “victim statements”. I stayed
up the night before composing my thoughts and then transcribed them on paper. At the hearing, after giving the judge a copy
of my statement, I stood erect and I looked the judge squarely in his eyes as I relayed
the effect and impact the attack had on, not just my son, but on the family as
a whole. I pleaded with the judge not to let this senseless, unprovoked act of
violence go unpunished and then, as if lead by some unknown force, I requested permission
to show him the photos of my son that were taken immediately after the
attack. The judge was shocked at both the severity of my son's injuries and that this
information was withheld from the previous sentencing. He indicated that had he
known of the extent of the injuries my son sustained, he would have dealt out a
harsher sentence. I believe he could have still imposed a stiffer sentence on
that first assailant if he wanted to, but I’m no lawyer.
Anyway, the judge seemed genuinely disgusted with his
earlier sentencing of the first assailant and when he said he needed some more time
to consider the evidence before passing sentence on the other two, I kind of
felt that my pictures and statement were influential on that decision. Several hours later the court reconvened, and
the judge sentenced the other two assailants to 30 days in juvenile detention
and one year probation each. It was not what I was hoping for but it was better
than what was previously dished out. Besides, their sentence would start in December which meant they would not be home for Christmas - small comfort. The assailants were asked to apologize to
my son, which they did but not before they claimed that they were "innocent" and
were merely “by-standers”. I guess their apology then was not so much for
attacking my son but rather for not coming to his aide when their friend was
attacking him. Either way, it left a lot to be desired, and neither my son nor
I believed a word they said.
Over the next few months I found myself growing bitter with
resentment and I felt this overwhelming need for my son’s attackers to
experience the same hurt and discomfort they unleashed on my son. I was angry
with myself for not being there when my son needed me as unrealistic as that
may sound, but I was even more furious with those guys. How dare they attack my
son for no reason? He was just minding his own business, doing his own thing. I
wanted their parents to experience the same helpless feeling I felt when I
looked at my son suffering. I knew I could not inflict any physical damage on them, but I figured I could at least seek to recover some of the $10,000 or so
his treatment had set me back, not to mention some sort of punitive damage for
malicious intent. So I did my research to obtain their information and then set
out on a course to locate an attorney to represent my son to sue them for physical, emotional, and
punitive damages. From what I could tell we had a pretty good case, but it was
not a big
enough of a case for any attorney to jump
on board. My only option then, it
seemed, was to sue them in civil court on my own and I felt I could do that. After
all, unlike a criminal case, all I needed is to present the preponderance of
evidence and prove liability based on their actions and I had that. To add
insult to injury, one day, about two weeks into their sentence we received two
handwritten notes from the assailants, no doubt a condition of their sentence by the court. As in their verbal apologies, they denounced
any real involvement in the attack on my son but asked for our forgiveness just the
same. Both my son and I questioned their
genuineness and we decided that it was probably forced and was not heart felt.
As I continued to fellowship at my local church I was
reminded that un-forgiveness festered physical ailments and also hinders the
natural progression of God’s blessings in our lives. I was also reminded that
if I wanted forgiveness I too must learn to forgive. But I think the most
profound recollection I had was of Romans 12:19 which said, “Dearly
beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is
written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” The way I figured
it is, if I seek revenge for my son then my hands would not be clean and God
will not bless the work of my hands nor will he avenge on our behalf, but if I
allow God to avenge my son, then I stand blameless before Him and He is free to
bless us. Besides, I can think of no one who can unleash revenge like God can. If you think about it long enough you will
recall some negative event that happened to someone you know and you called it a “freak accident” because you really can’t
blame anyone for what happened to that person. The same can be said for when
good things happen to someone and we call it “good luck”. Most people may sum it all up as “Karma”, but I know its God. That’s why when I pray for people, I
don’t ask God to “bless” or “curse”. I just ask Him to give them “what they deserve” because He is judge
and jury over all of us and He knows better than me what they deserve to happen
to them. It’s not my job to dish out blessings or curses. That’s the job of the
Almighty. Once I got that revelation, it became easier to try to let go of the
hurt and pain I was carrying and something remarkable happened.
As the days turned into weeks I found myself praying for the
assailants. It was not always easy, but over time that bitter resentment I felt
started to decapitate and I no longer had that overwhelming need for my son’s
attackers to experience the same hurt and discomfort they unleashed on my son.
As more time went by my heart became light when I thought of them as I
continued to pray for them. Today, I am grateful that my son survived that attack and I count it a blessing that I still have him. I can also truly say that I have forgiven those
guys for attacking my son because in so doing I have released God’s favor over
my life. They may have hurt my son and unearthed a side of him I had not seen
before, but we have taken that experience and used it as a building block in
his life. He now has a determination to never be caught off guard like that
again and while he may not have forgiven them yet, it’s his to work out. I can’t
force him to forgive them and he may never do so, but I take comfort in knowing
this crime has not and will not go unpunished based on God’s scale. They may
feel they have gotten away with something, but I know God won’t allow them to
get away with anything. So to that end, I pray for them every day, “Heavenly Father, my gracious God, You know the
desires of my heart and You know those young men who attacked my son on May 17th 2011. You know them by name and You know them
by nature. Give them their just deserve according to Your word because
vengeance is Yours. Amen.” I got issues? What about you? )i(
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