|
i wrote this a little less than seven years ago. today is the anniversary of my daughter's death.
Bekah’s Death
The loss which is unknown is no loss at all.
- Publilius Syrus
The criminal case against Bekah's murderer was decided in chambers and in offices where her family and loved ones were not invited. That my girl was denied her earthly justice continues to complicate matters for me as i attempt to recover from losing my daughter - who was healthy, happy, and 21 years old - a process that would under optimal circumstances still be the hardest thing i have ever attempted.
On 07-24-01, five days after she killed Bekah, the woman known as "Rambo" was arraigned in San Pedro. Although the detective failed to advise me of the hearing, I had called the court myself, and rushed to court with a friend who had traveled from Northern CA for Bekah's funeral, which was planned for the following day.
The judge was one of those been-there-done-that blasé sort of guys. I will always remember the audible surprise in his voice when he announced Rambo's case: "...and Ms. Woolever is charged with (pause, quizzical uplift in voice) ...murder." I will also never forget the detective's response when I thanked him later that day for making the case for murder: "We felt it was appropriate under the circumstances."
The 53-year-old woman who had torn my daughter out of her life in a gruesome few seconds on 07-19-01 was still in jail. She was in handcuffs and appeared to be very agitated, afraid, uncomfortable.
She seemed to feel sorry for herself.
I leaned forward in my chair and stared. Stared. Stared. Until the bailiff positioned himself between Rambo and me. He never spoke aloud to me, but it was obvious that he was not going to let the defendant be "over"looked at by this unannounced visitor to the court (meaning me).
So i leaned back in my seat. Noticed that when her attorney asked for something outrageous in the way of bail, like O.R. or $50,000, the judge almost laughed at him. However, he did cut her bail in half, from one million to five hundred thousand dollars. On 08-08-01, Bekah's killer got out of jail. Half a million bail couldn't keep this woman behind bars.
Bekah's body was put into the ground at Green Hills Memorial Park the day after her killer's arraignment. Bekah's body will never be released. Bekah's spirit and soul...survive. I believe that.
Rambo was taken back into custody on 02-15-02 after plea bargaining her way out of the murder charge and being sentenced to four years for felony vehicular manslaughter with gross negligence while intoxicated and felony hit and run. She could have been sentenced to 15 years, but she got four, the least amount of time possible for the crimes for which she was found guilty.
When she gets out in two years, if she murders somebody else the same way she killed Bekah, you might be thinking, aha! two violent convictions, she will go away 25 to life this time. Of course you'd be wrong. Rambo has no strikes. That's right, no strikes.
She killed Bekah so brutally we could not even see our girl to have one last hug, to really know that truth that our whole entire beings rebelled from believing, to advise the police or coroner or doctor that, "Yes, it is Bekah." Nope. The "massive trauma to the head" sustained by Bekah, inflicted by Rambo, was so destructive that we were persuaded by the people dealing with us not to look at her. And so we buried our precious girl without a last look or touch.
But her crimes don't count as violent.
After being told by her father that Bekah was dead, I made note of the following in an effort to make myself believe it:
1) Bekah is not here; she is not with Matt, or Paul, or at home, or anywhere. If she was alive we would have seen her, heard from her...
2) The policeman verified that Bekah was dead. After my ex told me over the phone, I got the names and numbers of the investigating officers...first I called Bekah's older brother and told him this news I really did not believe, then I called the police and calmly asked whether my ex-husband had been telling me the truth when he said my daughter was dead.
3) I called her best friend, who was already crying, talked to Paul who was inside the building when Bekah was killed (Bekah was crossing the street to visit with Paul). When I asked him how he knew it was Bekah he said, "her shoes..." and he lost it...he said, "Bekah was the love of my life." past tense...I don't think Paul would be so upset if it wasn't Bekah...
It was after 2 a.m. on July 20, 2001. Bekah's father and 17-year-old brother, my son Andy, arrived. John, my oldest son, showed up. I had by this time woken up Rory with my wailing, although I had not shed a single tear. There must be some kind of belief, acknowledgment, before tears can flow. Over a long night in my living room we gathered. Her father related how it was imparted to him that there is no doubt: it is Bekah, she is dead, but don't look at her, massive trauma to the head...even so, at daylight John and I headed for the hills with the plan to see Bekah, to hug her one last time, to learn that she was dead...
We first went to where Bekah died. Her car was still parked across from her friend's apartment building. I hugged Bekah's car. Chalk marks and the soot from many flares verified that something really bad happened there recently. We readily found where each of Bekah's laced-up Skechers landed, but we visited the site three times before finding the spot where Bekah landed. This is because it is so far away from her shoes - we did not think to walk so far from her shoes. We didn't know then, about how Rambo dragged Bekah's body down the street.
A Channel 11 Newsvan had apparently camped there overnight. When the reporter approached me to ask for an interview, I asked him what does he know? That's when i learned that my daughter was killed by a middle-aged woman...somehow i had it in my head that it would be a young man...reckless, drunk, remorseful. But no. It was Rambo - a 53-year-old woman with a reputation.
I would not go on camera with the reporter but did tell him that Bekah's 21st birthday had passed only 13 days before her death. My mind was finally convinced about what my heart and soul would not acknowledge for months yet: Bekah is dead...but still, could I bury her without hugging her one more time?
At the hospital the first tears appeared, hot, brought on by a shuddering wave of the single most terrible realization I have ever experienced. A noise escaped my mouth when the tears sprang from my eyes, and John said, "What, Mom?"
I said, "Bekah's dead!"
Oh to relate the despair of that realization. Impossible, cannot be done. And remarkably it would be still many more days and nights before I really believed. I mean really; and months after that, acceptance, which is an ongoing process so excruciating it likewise defies expression in words.
Instead of being taken to Bekah's side, we were taken into a room within the hospital. A nurse or supervisor came into the room carrying Bekah's chart, and as tactfully as she could, convinced me that we did NOT need to identify Bekah's body. Not even to hug her one last time. As she kindly and patiently recited minute by minute details of Bekah's death, the attempts they made to bring her back, the timeline, the nature of Bekah's injuries, I turned to John and said, "We will never see Bekah again."
But it wasn't a violent crime no...no strikes.
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
