The Verdict

Quiet drives through the country used to be my escape.

They used to be my therapy.

But now, every time I pass a cornfield I shudder.

I rely on pills.

And psychiatrists with empty words and open-ended questions to help me make it through another day.

Another day without her.

Another day absent of her contagious laugh.

I used to love riding my bike.

The feeling of freedom it brought me.

The joy.

Now, my bike sits in the corner of the garage, covered in layers of dust.

A constant reminder how one, simple bike ride tore my whole family apart.

Every time I see a girl riding her bike, I feel a tug at my heartstrings.

I fight the strong urge to follow behind her.

To confirm she makes it home safe.

To make sure that her bike ride stays nothing – but just another bike ride.

I’m scared to have children.

To bring a beautiful soul in to this world knowing the true, harsh reality of what darkness surrounds us.

The evil that can exist – just right next door.

Because what was once just another news headline while I drank my morning coffee became my reality.

It became the top headline of my life.

What I thought only existed in horror movies, became the nightmare I could not wake up from.

I have a lot of questions.

But instead I learned the answer to every question I did not have the courage to ask.

Answers that will continue to haunt me forever and revisit me in my sleep.

When all I wanted was the answer to the one question that will ache in my heart for the rest of my life.

Why?

But the reality is, no answer is ever going to be good enough.

No answer is ever going to bring her back.

It’s never going to change the fact that I relive her final moments in my head.

Over and over.

That I haven’t slept through the night in 617 days.

Or me not being able to make it through a single day without constantly reminding myself to take a breath.

That I continuously have to keep reminding myself to fight no matter how tired I am.

I’m angry.

So damn angry.

But I know that if I let the anger take over.

If I let it consume me – I won’t be able to come back from it.

So you can’t have any of it.

She was a light.

A light you thought you could diminish.

A light you thought you were successful in putting out.

But her flame is still burning – even now.

And it’s bigger and brighter than ever.

You lose.

She wins.

Guilty.

Hearing that one word.

Guilty.

That was the first time I took a breath in 617 days.

I believe in forgiveness.

Or at least I used to.

But for you – I’m going to make an exception

Because the truth is, I hope to God you suffer.

I hope when the darkness comes for you, it will hit you twice as hard as it hit us.

And I hope you will curse her name, knowing she was the one who sent it.

The reality is, no punishment is ever going to bring her back.

Hate won’t either.

So this is me letting go.

You do not have the final word.

And the darkness of the pain is nothing compared to the colors of her.

She was an angel put here to bring the devil in to the light.

She is a hero, not a victim.

Saving who knows how many lives and freeing how many souls.

SHE WON.

Justice for Sierah has been served.

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There’s no real end to this story yet. I’m still in the middle of it, hoping there will be some kind of closure or conclusion. But that’s not how life works. Taking each day as it comes is all I can do. But I do miss her, I can finally admit it to myself. I more sad now than angry – I feel like I had an open cut that was infected and it’s finally been cleaned out. I still have all the healing in front of me.