One Of Them Is My Daughter

For almost two years my family and I have anticipated this day, unable to ban the circumstances from our hearts and minds as much as we so badly wish that we could. 

Two people: the victim who was assaulted, and the one who committed the assault. One of them has been out (of jail) on bail for 21 months, and today, in just a few short hours, a sentence will be handed down by a judge. Why do I even care? Because one of them is my daughter. 

I worry about her quite often, and this situation has not made it any better. Yesterday evening, like a cat on hot bricks, I jumped up and began neatly placing my clothes across the chaise lounge at the foot of my bed. Today, I’m wearing all black. Today, my makeup is simple, as well as my hair. No need for too much because all the cosmetics on earth right now won’t help me put down the bags that I’m carrying below my eyes. I did not sleep very well last night, and as a matter of fact, I did not sleep at all. Tossing and turning cannot hold a candle to what I went through; it was more like tidal waving: up and down, back and forth, horizontal and vertical, in bed, out of bed, all night long. For hours my mind wandered like I had come to a fork in the road of a dark tunnel and could not figure out for the life of me, which way to take. My every thought was of her. How was she feeling? Did she sleep well? Did she sleep at all? Or was she uneasy like me? It was so unlike her to behave this way, and to be caught up in this type of mess, and I never thought I would hear the words “jail”, “sentence”, and “assault” associated with her name; not in a million years.

I am mourning, but it is not over a physical death, but then again, I guess it is, only no person died. My daughter’s hopes and dreams did. They died when she missed her senior prom and was unable to attend her high school graduation; when her college plans were canceled, and so much more.  Her quality-of-life dissolved right before our very eyes - literally. 

Am I anxious? Of course, I am. Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary provides the perfect definition for what is going on with me right now, which is “frantic”: wild or distraught with fear, anxiety or other emotion. That is me. I am frantic. 

My son is here to pick me up so that we can go to the courthouse together. My daughter does not want to ride with us. As anyone would expect, she doesn't even want to go. This is a different kind of day for her. She has been through the wringer since the incident occurred, all because someone made the choice to be a bully. 

I remember the Friday she came home from school and told me she was fed up with being bullied by a fellow classmate. As soon as she confessed this to me, I felt as if I had failed her in some way because I had not seen any signs of her being a victim of bullying. She did not appear to be depressed, and I saw her smile often. I saw no unexplained injuries or changes in her eating habits. I thought she was sleeping well at night. I perceived her hating school and being anxious to finish and go off to college as part of her being a normal teenager who could not wait to be out living on her own. I thought this meant that everything with her was in well working order. I did not think it was strange that she had asked to be dropped off and picked up every day, when she had taken the bus for the first three and a half years of high school. It did not seem unusual that she did not want to attend prom because she wasn’t “boy crazy” like teenage girls usually are, and she wasn’t a social butterfly. She kept to herself, and had very few friends, and I thought I was just allowing her to be herself by not interfering with that. 

However, she enlightened me when she explained why I had not been able to detect that she was going through something as horrific as being bullied. She told me that she had tried to be courageous from the day it began because she heard someone at church say, “courage is fear that has said its prayers”. Therefore, she faced her tyrant every day, although she had to do it afraid. She shared with me how she mentally prepared herself daily by reassuring herself that all she had to do was endure a few minutes of verbal abuse (harsh and negative words) from an individual who was clearly unhappy with herself and her own circumstances. My daughter understood that this character wanted to hurt someone because she was being hurt or had been hurt by someone as well. So, my child tried to be the bigger person, but eventually she became fed up with the verbal abuse. 

She did not want to tell any adults because if word got out at school, she would be viewed as “a snitch”; a reputation that would follow her for the rest of her life. It’s sad to say but it is true: you can be 40 years old, and when your name comes up in conversation, you will be known for whatever reputation you gained in high school. For some odd reason, no matter what great things you accomplish in life, people only want to remember that one negative thing that took place in your life. People love dirty laundry, and being known as a snitch might have been a blessing compared to what she is now being remembered for. 

In response to her confession, I advised her to report her bully to the vice principal so that she could handle it, and so that my daughter could finish her last few weeks of school in peace. I reminded her that all she needed to do was make it to graduation, and that there was a very strong possibility that she would never see this person again unless perhaps someday, years down the line the school would have a class reunion; and by then, hearts and minds would be changed by life experiences and maturity. 

But she did not heed to my advice, and the following Tuesday she confronted the person who was tormenting her, and it was caught on the school’s cameras, but with no audio, and because the pest walked away as my daughter displayed riotous behavior, my daughter was suspended for two days, and the next evening is when something happened that led us up to this day in court. 

The bully came to the apartments where we lived. There was a fight between her and my daughter, and one of them was badly injured. One was hit in the eye with an unknown object, spent three days in the hospital, had an emergency surgery; and ended up with a severe concussion, loose teeth, and possible blindness and double vision for the rest of her life. The other was arrested two weeks later, after an extensive investigation. She has been out on bail for 21 months, there was a trial, eight weeks ago she was found guilty, and now she is being sentenced.  

When my son and I walked into the courtroom, my daughter was already up front, sitting at one of the tables. The former bully was present as well. My daughter looked back at me with tears in her eyes and mouthed, “Please try not to be angry or hurt anymore. It’s all over, and I will be okay.” That was easy for her to say because she wasn’t a mother, and she seemed to think this only happened to her. But little did she know that when someone decides to bully, they don’t take the time to realize that they are figuratively throwing a pebble into a pond, and that it causes ripples that spread out and eventually upset the entire body of water. 

That girl infringed upon my daughter’s peace, which in turn breached my peace and the peace of our entire family, my daughter’s friends, and all of her loved ones. She thought she was only affecting my daughter, but she affected all of us. We were all bruised by her actions. Our hearts ached as we watched my daughter’s life fall apart, and the sad thing is that it all could have been avoided. That girl could have talked to someone: a guidance counselor, a friend, a family member. She could have sought help in some form or fashion. She could have decided to not be a bully, but to treat others the way she desired to be treated. There were so many other positive choices she could have made, but she didn’t. Instead, she decided to take the low road, and make someone as miserable as she was. 

I held my breath as the judge read the sentence aloud: three years in a medium security prison, with five years' probation was her punishment for disrupting our lives. It took some time, but we all healed: emotionally, mentally, and for my daughter, physically too. We had no idea what she used to hit my daughter with, but thankfully my child is more than a conqueror. She did not get to attend her graduation ceremony, but she did receive her diploma. She did not get to attend college, but after she regained her sight and was able to read again, she became a registered nurse; and through this experience we all learned the importance of stopping a bully in his/her tracks before their actions can disturb anyone else’s life and/or peace.