I Often Wonder
I often wonder about the six badges who killed Joshuah. I wonder what they think and how they feel. Do they think about it at all? Do they realize that in the history of all the galaxies, there has never, nor will there ever be, another soul like Joshuah? And because he had no children, his soul, his DNA, is forever extinct?
I don’t assume Joshuah’s death was a pre-planned outcome, ya know, because that would be premeditated murder. But still—
I wonder about clock out time at 5 pm January 22, six officers driving home--the ballistic shield and white warrior clothes splattered with Josh’s thirty six years of smiles and struggles, our families thirty six years of love investment.
Who loaded up Josh’s entrails and flesh bits then labeled it as evidence? How did they know for sure it wasn’t a piece of Joshuah’s heart they scraped off the dining room wall and tossed in evidence?
I wonder if the six smelled wet pennies like I did, and what they told themselves stepping around his body like a road hazard at the crime scene—did the six go crazy like I did, like Chelsea did?
I wonder if the shield acts as shield against basic humanity--is murder murder or justified homicide if the local supreme court of one man says “Nah, we’re good,”—
And would the Supreme Court of God give them a thumbs up?
I wonder what they were thinking about driving home that day.
I wonder if Group Think came into play as my ex-therapist strongly suggested--Group Think is where one leader with an itchy trigger finger and a bloated sense of self steers the rest to follow, either through coercive words or actions.
The therapist enjoyed my rage too much—I didn’t. I fired her.
I wonder if January 22 ever crosses their mind. It hasn't left ours. They killed Joshuah one time. For us, he dies over and over again every moment we miss him.
I rage because the six badges sons are safe and sound, while mine sits in a plastic box on an end table like a knicknack—for display purposes only. None of us can bear the thought of putting him in the ground yet—we just can’t.
And maybe all this would be easier on everyone if we could have a hard conversation, but only one shield has kinda answered my request. He views my intention with a jaundiced eye, as I do him. He doesn’t want my anger and frankly, I don’t want to give it away. For me, it’s propellant, it rockets me out of bed and into action.
But I don’t like myself much when thoughts go down the rage road, as they often do. Besides, I still remember to pray everyday for those shields on the line—and they are ALL on the line everyday, including the six.
I wonder if they pray for Josh, for us, for spiritual forgiveness.
I wonder about a lot of things, But what I really want to know, is—what were they thinking when they were driving home that day?
