Photograph
is not to be copied, published or saved without the
express written permission of Richard Thornton
Monday,
January 5, 1998
It is
a sound that you will always remember. You may not
remember exactly what the words were, but you will
always remember where you were when the policeman told
you that your wife was dead. Murdered. Your mind races
to grasp the concept but it refuses to do so. There
must be some mistake, you say to the officer. You
explain that your wife is simply staying with a friend
for a few days. Your daughter is quietly crying in the
other room. She knows. The policemen leave you to
stare at the ceiling fan going around and around and
around. You are sure that a mistake has been made and
that your wife will soon call to tell you that she is
OK, that she just forgot to call. Then one by one you
feel them creeping up into your throat. The sobs, the
cries of anger, the shortness of breath as you gasp
for air and a reason. There is none, you say to
yourself. This is all a big mistake.
Then
you hear it for the first time. It is on the
television news. They are showing pictures of people
draped with sheets and you think you hear that they
have been killed with a pickax. That couldn't be her,
you say to yourself. Then you remember what a
pickax is and you are sure of it; there is no way,
they must have misspoken. This must be some kind of
science fiction show, it isn't really the news. They
aren't really talking about a real murder. Then, out
of the comer of your eye you see it. It is blue. It is
nothing out of the ordinary, just an old pick up
truck. Except for the license plates. Oh my God, those
are her plates, that is her truck, oh no, oh my God
no. It is here that you think your life has ended. It
is now that you know what a broken heart is. It is
from this terrible well of anguish and pain that your
first question comes. Who? How is only a moment behind
it. It is at this moment of realization that you start
to think about the why.
From
inside all of this pain and anguish comes your first
sane thought. You are sure that "they" must
know who did this thing. After all, this is not
something that happens every day. "They"
will surely know what to do and how to do it.
"They" will tell me what it is I should do
now. In your mind's eye you see a crowd of people
rushing towards you, some with open arms waiting to
comfort you, others with guns drawn, ready to protect
you and your family from any further pain. Still
others are in the distance holding the hand of your
loved one, comforting her, helping her, protecting
her.
"They",
don't exist. This comforting thought of what you
expect the government to be like is simply another
fable from your youth, smashed backwards into the
memory of your childhood. "Always run to a
policeman" my mother had told me. "They will
help you, no matter what."
In
1983 there were no organizations to help victims of
crime and their families. "They" did not
exist. The dreams I had as a youth of the government
wrapping me in a warm blanket of help when a disaster
such as this came along were just that; dreams. I was
unable to find out anything. I was not made to feel
like I was a part of anything that was going on. When
Karla Faye Tucker and Daniel Garrett were finally
arrested and charged with the murder of Jerry L. Dean
and my wife, Deborah Ruth Davis Thornton, I was made
to feel like an outsider, someone who had absolutely
no bearing on the incident. I could not believe it. I
could not get anyone to even tell me when the trial
was. Everything that I learned about the case I
learned through the media. There was no one who was
advising me as to what was going on, or what would
happen next. I felt like I was farther down on the
list than the criminals themselves.
To
this day I still have trouble being notified of
anything concerning with this case. Without the
interjection of Justice For All, I seriously doubt
that I would be told in advance of anything, including
Karla Faye Tucker's execution. This organization is
the kind of organization that no one wants to belong
to. Look at the reasons we all have for becoming
active in JFA. Murder, rape, burglary, sodomy, and the
list goes on and on. It is a downright shame that this
organization has to exist at all. That it does exist
is testament to the total lack of responsible
government that is prevalent today. Without JFA, a
whole lot of us would be sitting outside of various
government offices still waiting to find out what we
wanted to know several years ago. I have been a silent
member of JFA since its inception in 1993. I am silent
no more. It is very gratifying to know that JFA has
been responsible for many of the victims' rights
legislation that has been passed by the government in
the last few years. I can only hope and pray that
there are many more folks out there who are as
concerned for the treatment of victims and their
families as these folks are. I am very serious when I
say I do not know where I would be without them. I
will continue to support JFA in all their endeavors so
that others like myself will not wonder where
"they" are. "They" will be right
here, at JFA.
Sincerely,
Richard
A Thornton
Husband
to Deborah Davis Thornton, murdered by Karla Faye
Tucker on June 13, 1983
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