"What do you mean you don't care? Don't you want justice for your daughter?"

The fury in the Assistant State Attorney's voice vibrated in my ear. I sighed. I was so tired of rehashing the whole thing once again. How do you explain to a hot-shot young public prosecutor that nothing he does can bring her back?

She's gone. She's been gone for fifteen years

Then again, he's just doing his job. At least someone is trying to do something. I'd agitated in 2003 when the men who'd shot her were arrested but were told by a lady public prosecutor that they didn't want to bring the case to trial too soon. They wanted their "ducks in a row." Because the public defender was a wily man and could get the whole thing thrown out on a technicality.

Knowing nothing about the law or how it works, I capitulated. The fight went out of me. What good was it anyway?

It wouldn't bring her back

But here I was. Fifteen years later. And I so wanted to avoid reliving the events that led to that night or the days afterward.

The Assistant State Attorney was persistent. The state would fly me to Florida; I was in Maryland then, fetch me at the airport and take me to a hotel — all so the following day I could go to court and see the young man who had driven the getaway car.

I backpedaled, as always. The concept of non-confrontation was written for me. I'm a poster girl for peace at all costs.

This young man never held a gun

Florida still has the death sentence, but it was taken off the table, and he got life in jail without parole. I promised to attend the court proceedings when the young man who had fired and killed my daughter came to trial.

I've heard nothing in the five years since that phone call in 2018 inviting me to the trial of the driver of the getaway car.

What made me think of it this morning?

"For outside of forgiveness, there is no hope; outside of forgiveness, there is no peace. Forgiveness is the oxygen that purifies the air of hatred; forgiveness is the antidote to the poisons of resentment; it is the way to defuse anger and heal so many maladies of the heart that contaminate society."

Pope Francis (The Pope's Missions. Friday, September 22nd, 2023)

And I truly believe there is healing in forgiving. This may be why I'm so ambivalent about what happens to those men and the one who pulled the trigger.

What were their backgrounds? Who were their role models? How did they grow up? Did they have enough to eat? Did anybody hug them, tell them how wonderful and smart they were, and then send them to school? What level of education did they have? Did they ever hold a job and earn honest money?

And if not, why not. What happened in their young lives growing up to have them seek acceptance and family in a violent street gang?

The cycle of violence and poverty repeating itself is well-known.

What chance did they ever have to live, behave, and act like ordinary young people?

Life was stacked against them from the start. Breaking free from that environment takes work.

I do not make excuses for their behavior; I do not condone them killing my daughter, who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I'm only painting a picture.

And now to compare.

I had researched and handpicked the exclusive private prep school where I sent her when we arrived in Florida. Here, she would mix with and meet young people from similar backgrounds. Families who went to church. Young people who had the Catholic faith as part of their daily instruction.

These kids did not know hunger deprivation, being kicked out of their homes by drunk parents with nowhere to go, sleeping on park benches, and being told they were worthless and stupid.

Undoubtedly, there were isolated cases of abuse. There always are. But on an overall basis, this school would be a safe home from home.

Until it was not

My forgiveness didn't come for many years for the boys from that exclusive prep school who drugged and raped her at a "safe" private home, sending her into a downward spiral that led to her being in that place that day.

To be shot and killed

Her death was a movie reel on continuous replay in the days and months after. I wrote to her every night, telling her about my day. I'd talk to her while driving, telling her about the horrendous Miami traffic and the rude drivers.

I'd discuss my co-workers. Those I tiptoed around, those that were easy to talk to. I told her about the one who bought me a garden ornament of a butterfly on a stick. One I could jam into a pot plant. And I told her about the plaque they bought me –

"When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure."

Twenty years on, that plaque still sits at my front door.

Then came the night I decided to sleep in her bed. We'd bought her this waterbed secondhand, but it didn't come with a heater, and knowing nothing about water beds, I didn't know we had to buy one. Neither did Dad.

I was frozen the next morning. And felt terrible about how cold she must've been; now, I would never have the chance to warm her.

Because she was gone

I would stand inside her walk-in closet and wrap her clothes around me. Inhale. Her favorite scent of Gabriela Sabatini lingered. Along with the memories.

That night, I'd write and tell her all about it.

The class of 2002 graduated. Her class. Scattered to start their new lives. There would be no new beginning for her.

I wondered whether those boys ever thought of her. Did they realize the part they had played in her death? They had been a part of it as much as if they had pulled the trigger.

Forgiveness came slowly

I prayed those young men would have safe and fruitful lives, but more than anything else, I prayed that if they had a daughter, those girls would grow up safe and never meet boys like their dads once were. Just keep them safe, Lord, I'd ask.

One day, I realized that it was okay. It's not for me to judge. All I need to do is forgive. It's all in our Father's hands anyway.

And so, I did. I went on my knees and asked God to take care of those young men and their families, especially their daughters. If God could forgive, so could I.

"Jesus' message is clear: God forgives incalculably, exceeding all measure. This is how he is; He acts out of love, and gratuitously. God is not bought, God is free, he is all gratuitousness. We cannot repay Him but, when we forgive a brother or a sister, we imitate Him."

Pope Francis (The Pope's Missions Thursday, September 21,20)