No Day in Court

I'm not here to debate whether Bruce Ivins, a research scientist and leading suspect of the 2001 anthrax attacks, was guilty or not. However, I do believe he should have had his day in court. On July 29, 2008, I imagine Ivins felt himself and his career beyond repair: humiliated, alienated, annihilated, and crouched upon. So much so, that he chose to take his life at a Frederick, MD hospital on that day rather than face his accusers in court. Ivins opted for a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

The irony of the matter came out in news tidbits over the last few days. The "evidence" gathered against him was largely circumstantial. Ivins was not the only person with access to the deadly anthrax spores. The science tracing the anthrax strain to the lab was still uncertain; the science simply does not incite the comfort that a fingerprint test or DNA test offers to a unique source. It would have been an "interesting case for debate," so say the subject expert pundits.

Interesting? Hello!? It seems like there is no justice or accountability for character assassination in today's news media. It must pay the bills and feed the news frenzy. Granted, in the news, there's not much room for sadness, remorse, or forgiveness.

Now the question stands what of his family and loved ones? What of those left behind? His family, church home, community, etc.? If there is one thing I've learned from experience is that when someone dies by suicide, everyone is affected whether you think you are or not. Everyone.

The Afterw@rd

Out of the Darkness

So here I am again facing my fears.

Like last year, my indecisiveness confounded me on whether to join in The Overnight walk, a 20-mile walk overnight which benefits the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. For the first time in 30 years I swallowed my pride and let folks know a painful issue in my life: the death of family members to suicide. Why should I have to remind folks the embarrassing tale that everything is not so perfect in my perfectly constructed little world?

Then life happens. The news happens. The reason for being happens. It rudely awakens me to remind me that it's not about me. It's about you, greater than anything I may be confronting.

Two days ago, a man unable to bear the mental weight of living in post-Katrina Louisiana, snaps, and ends up getting shot by police in a stand off because he can't bear to leave his FEMA trailer. A week ago, a front page news story appears in the Washington Post stating that the suicide rate among soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan is at an all time high over the last two decades.

Over the last month, the "in your face" reasons never seemed to end.

I'll be in New York City tomorrow. Walking. For you. Into the light.