Taking My Life Back Page 14
I thanked the jury for performing their difficult job so well, then focused on the blank-faced killer in front of me. In that moment he made eye contact with me for the first time. Only now I stood unwavering, unlike the former Obedient Preacher’s Daughter. Determination filled me.
People have commented that he looked like a lost boy, a waif who got in over his head. Such people see his blank face as a canvas on which they paint their own imaginings of who they think he is. Here is what I told him.
I was asked to give a victim impact statement, but in order to do that I would have to be someone’s victim, and I am definitely not one of yours or your brother’s. For months now, everyone has watched you basically gawk at the horrific footage of the devastation that you caused, with little or no remorse. You even saw an up close video of my own legs completely blown apart. And I have to ask, did that make you feel good? I can only hope it felt as good as the numerous operations we’ve all had as a result.
Each day you have spent the majority of your time in this courtroom fiddling with your pencil and cracking jokes with your attorney, while innocent people have had to come in and rehash the most heart-wrenching details of everything that was taken from them. I even witnessed your refusal to stand up and acknowledge the jury on the second day of the trial. Remember that aggressive nudge from Miriam? Yeah, I saw. As a matter of fact, it was very much like the one your backpack gave me the day of the bombing. And of course, if these were normal circumstances, I would simply ask if this was how your mama raised you . . . but that would be a whole different issue, now wouldn’t it?
And I get the general idea of how these things are supposed to flow. But it is hard for me to wrap my head around spending my time talking about what you’re already aware of. While it’s absolutely important to explain the severe role PTSD plays in both mine and my child’s life now, as well as the long-term headaches of being an amputee, what’s more crucial to me is that before you die, you are shown a bigger picture of what your act of hate has truly done.
So in case it slipped your mind, I’m Rebekah. And since I was standing a couple feet away from the first bomb, your brother is actually the one who blew me up. But since he’s not here, you get to be the one I give my dose of reality to. So listen closely.
Terrorists like you do two things in this world. One, they create mass destruction. But the second is quite interesting, because do you know what mass destruction really does? It brings people together.
Over the last two years, the other survivors and I have seen the hearts and souls of millions across the world. An outpouring of love that stretches hundreds of thousands of miles for one act of hate that stretched a couple hundred feet. And while you seem proud to be responsible for blowing up Marathon Monday, the legacies of Martin Richard, Lingzi Lu, Krystle Campbell, and Sean Collier blow up the entire nation EVERY day. Let that sink in for a minute.
Because when people look back on April 15, 2013, they won’t remember your name or your brother’s. Instead, what they will think about is the courage and bravery everyone has shown and the amazing feats those affected have gone on to do. Do you know how many foundations have been set up to give back and help others? And how many people have now made full-time careers of traveling the world speaking out against evil? That is why it is so funny to me that you smirk and flip off the camera, because truthfully I feel like that is what we are doing to YOU every day we continue to succeed, fake limbs or not.
And in preparing this, I asked my seven-year-old if he could say one thing to you, what it would be. His reply was better than I ever could have imagined: “You made us stronger.”
So by all means, smile, gawk, make your jokes, and hate Americans. But when you are sitting in your prison cell, I want you to remember this one promise: I, Rebekah Gregory, vow with the rest of my life to use the platform I have been given to do my part in changing the world for the better. I will come up with new ways every day to shine my light brighter than the day before and continue to stress the importance of truly enjoying every minute we are given, no matter the circumstances. When I look down at my leg, I will not allow myself to become angry. Instead, I will count it as a blessing that I can try to encourage others through the hand that I have been dealt. And even during those frequent nights when I wake up due to nightmares, I still will not hold any resentment. I will only let it give me further drive to keep pushing forward, no matter how many times life blows up in my face.
So despite what you think you have done, reality clearly states that you and your brother have lost. While your intention was to destroy America, what you have really accomplished is actually quite the opposite. You’ve unified us. And though we have a long way to go, because of such a horrific event, there are that many more people ready to do the dirty work of getting rid of evil once and for all.
I can’t believe that you, at twenty-one years old, didn’t think twice about wasting such a precious life, and I’m sad that you won’t be here to see what happens next.
We are Boston Strong. We are America strong. And choosing to mess with us was a terrible idea. How’s that for your “victim” impact statement?
Afterward, a US marshal who had observed the hearing from the packed overflow room told me that the crowd in there burst into a standing ovation when my statement concluded. He grinned from ear to ear and said (I’m paraphrasing to keep our family-friendly rating), “You sure told him.” He also gave me his pin.
The judge’s final remarks to the convict before rendering the sentence were eloquent. I particularly loved this part, and still do:
Whenever your name is mentioned, what will be remembered is the evil you have done. No one will remember that your teachers were fond of you. No one will mention that your friends found you funny and fun to be with. No one will say you were a talented athlete or that you displayed compassion in being a Best Buddy or that you showed more respect to your women friends than your male peers did. What will be remembered is that you murdered and maimed innocent people and that you did it willfully and intentionally. You did it on purpose.
You tried to justify it to yourself by redefining what it is to be an innocent person so that you could convince yourself that Martin Richard was not innocent, that Lingzi Lu was not innocent, and the same for Krystle Campbell and Sean Collier and, therefore, they could be, should be killed. It was a monstrous self-deception. To accomplish it, you had to redefine yourself as well. You had to forget your own humanity, the common humanity that you shared with your brother Martin and your sister Lingzi.
It appears that you and your brother both did so under the influence of the preaching of Anwar al-Awlaki and others like him. It is tragic, for your victims and now for you, that you succumbed to that diabolical siren song. Such men are not leaders but misleaders. They induced you not to a path to glory but to a judgment of condemnation.*
The surviving bomber, now facing death, began his wait in prison for his date with the executioner. He may have thought he would continue his jihad from behind bars, but his contact with the outside world has been hamstrung. No person other than precleared attorneys, paralegals, or investigators may participate in phone calls with him or even “listen or overhear” any part of the calls, which cannot be recorded.
His nonlegal mail, phone calls, and visits are restricted to immediate family members only. He can send only one letter of three double-sided pages to one adult per week. One adult can visit him at a time, but no physical contact is permitted.
Family members may not record phone calls with him or discuss the contents of their communication with any third party.
He is not allowed to talk to the media at all.
He can’t share a cell, participate in a group prayer service, or communicate with any of the other inmates.
And while he waits, his outdoor access is limited to a small enclosure where he can see a patch of sky and little else.
I didn’t travel to Boston for the sake of the sentencing. For me, the trial and
sentencing were vital pieces of the three-dimensional puzzle I call my life and the process of taking my life back from the fools who tried to steal it.
* * *
*Milton J. Valencia, “Judge Excoriates Tsarnaev before Imposing Death Sentence,” Boston Globe, June 24, 2015, https://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/2015/06/24/judge-excoriates-tsarnaev-before-imposing-death-sentence/s4IVL9PTCeznIqEYcTuJMN/story.html.
−17−
When You Try to Stop Smiling and You Can’t
Late in the summer of 2015, with the trial over and the sentencing done, my life came full circle in the form of an old boyfriend from my first year of college. Ten years earlier, Chris Varney had been a fellow student and resident in my dorm. Several girls on my floor and guys on his floor had formed close friendships with each other. It gave us a sense of family at a time when a lot of us were feeling far from home and intimidated about our futures. And right off the bat, there had been an unmistakable connection between Chris and me.
Back then, we had an easy dating life and our bond was deep. I always enjoyed his company and looked forward to hanging out with him and our mutual friends. He had been the first person, aside from my roommate, who I met at college. From day one, we were inseparable. We might have fallen into a much deeper relationship if we’d had the opportunity, but we never found out if anything more would develop between us.
During my second semester, my sister Lydia got sick. It was heart trouble, and it was giving her some of the symptoms of dropped blood pressure and dizziness I had experienced—in short, she began to struggle with the same POTS condition that had plagued my teen years. I soon decided the best thing to do was to move back close to home.
It was a bittersweet farewell with Chris and the others in my dorm. But they all understood my need to be close to family.
This happened before Facetime, and Skype was still brand-new and not widely used. There were certainly other ways to communicate, but we were all students and most of us were also working. Long-distance friendships are hard to sustain under a flurry of daily obligations, especially at age eighteen. And so I quickly lost touch with Chris and the others after moving away.
It was a happy surprise to reconnect with him on social media ten years later. I saw on his Facebook page that he was coming to Houston and reached out to him. He let me know his trip was job-related, but he was coming a few days early to hang out with his best friend, Nick, who also lived in Houston and had been one of our friends in college, and Nick’s fiancée. He suggested we all meet up. I thought it sounded like fun to see Chris after all this time, and his visit happened to fall on a week when I was in town and my schedule was clear. That almost never happened at this extremely hectic time in my life. We made a date to meet with Nick and his fiancée two days later.
When the date was made, it was just old friends meeting up for dinner. I knew that what Chris and I had for that short time had been powerful, but it was such a long time ago and we were so young then. Still, I felt excited to see how he had turned out. One of the things that always impressed me about him was how considerate he was, a real Southern gentleman.
Later that same evening, I was lying on the couch talking with my girlfriend Rachel about all the craziness the last few years had brought. I swore I would never allow myself to get close to anyone else, and most certainly would never settle down. I was fine with it being just me and Noah forever. This went back to my promise to never allow another man to betray us, especially Noah. It’s not that I had decided to hate men or turn against them; it was that no matter how well I performed in other areas of my life, I didn’t trust my own ability to see a man for who he really was.
Sometimes it takes a friend to slap you just hard enough to hit your reset button. Rachel laughed at me and asked if I really planned to live life as a single mom, at the age of twenty-eight. I objected to the question. Noah and I could get along without a man, although it was easier on me than on Noah. I understood how much a boy needs a good father to help him define his own manhood.
But I also knew that no father at all was better than a toxic example of manhood who would cross a boy’s wires and mess up his thinking with countless little bad examples. Noah had seen too much of that already.
Rachel was still unimpressed with my ability to maintain my solitude and raise my little boy and reminded me that even though it had been a long road, she still felt I deserved a good man and she didn’t believe I would never find one. She and her husband, Cody, had been by my side through my recovery, amputation, and divorce. If anyone knew me inside out, it was these two. A friendship like that doesn’t come around often, and the fact that our sons were also close was icing on the cake.
I suppose that at this particular point in life my friendship with Rachel and Cody was the main reason I still believed in any lasting sort of love. The life they had built together was one to be admired and was as genuine as it comes.They were still in love after eight years and two kids, and I knew I had a lot to learn from them.
I agreed to meet Nick and his fiancée, Lauren, along with Chris at the restaurant Taste of Texas, which was owned by my gracious benefactors, the Hendees, and was also where we’d held the farewell party for my leg.
So I walked in and Chris was sitting there. It felt so good to see him again, and the way his face lit up when our eyes met was beautiful to see. He looked great, and once we began to talk and catch up, he was still his charming self. Before I knew it, the evening was moving right along, with everyone laughing and talking as if we did this every week.
This thing between my old college boyfriend and my ten-years-later self was unlike anything I had experienced. It felt crazy, but in the best of ways. And for me, there was a strange familiarity I had never experienced. Maybe if the term déjà vu could be used to refer to a person, that would capture it.
The best part of it, the most fun of all, was that whenever our eyes met while the others were talking, he beamed from ear to ear and I could tell that he couldn’t stop himself. It was like seeing a grown man blush, just as charming as can be. He would just sit there grinning at me while Nick and Lauren talked, and neither of us could wipe the smile off our face. The spark between us was ridiculously strong.
I loved that he could be slightly self-conscious with me while also confident enough to make his feelings plain. He was just as I remembered him, but with another ten years of seasoning under his belt. And, of course, I was looking at him with different eyes than when I was in my late teens.
I already knew that Chris is a true gentleman of the South, from a good family with a loving mother and an openly affectionate father. Their faith is as important to their family as it is to mine. His Southern accent is deep, showing his background in coal country, but there is nothing rough about him. He is courteous and kind.
Our eye contact was electric. We probably didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, but our friends were merciful and pretended not to notice (much). Our rapport was almost like telepathy. We started finishing each other’s sentences—obnoxious stuff for outside observers but absolutely magical for us because Chris made it clear that he was smitten too.
Whenever I spoke, I could feel his concentration. He was glued to every word. It wasn’t that I was saying anything important; it’s that whatever I had to say was of interest to him because it mattered to me, and he was making that clear.
I felt so delighted and surprised by this little class reunion that I had to fight to avoid giggling like a happy moron and blowing milk out my nose. So much for my vow to live as a nun or whatever I’d had in mind.
By the next day, our new little group had planned another gathering. Not only was it great to catch up with my old friend Nick, along with seeing Chris again, but Lauren and I also clicked as if we had known each other for years.
The following night they all came over to my house for pizza and a movie. I introduced them to Noah. He usually took a long time to warm up to new people, yet he and Chris hit it off right away. I�
��ve heard so many horror stories about single men who can’t handle dating a woman with children. But what I had missed so far was the realization that my mother’s relationship was also with a man who had embraced her kids as his own, and it was not just the result of sheer chance. It was the result of loving, hard work. If it could be done once, it could be done again.
That night, after Noah went to bed, Chris held my hand for the first time. It was so electric that it’s embarrassing to talk about it now. He let me know he wanted this relationship to grow. I know how corny it sounds, but at the same time I would wish for just such a corny experience for every one of you. Go ahead, when the moment comes, and grin ear to ear like a complete idiot. That’s my advice. It feels great, and they can’t arrest you for it.
Chris was still holding my hand when he turned to me and said, “Rebekah, you have no idea how much I loved you in college.”
Who talks like that after two dates? Except it wasn’t too soon; it was ten years in the making. The only thing new was our mutual realization of what we had almost lost years ago. We had sweated through long study sessions and laughed at lousy jokes and shared our early ideas about what we hoped to do with our lives.
Chris is smart, funny, sensitive, decent, and all the good things about being a Southern boy. I already knew so much about him. I knew how he behaved in the world and how he lived out his values. I knew he was level-headed and not impulsive. I also knew it was completely out of character for him to be so blunt and emotional, and I might have been concerned about it if the core truth wasn’t already plain to both of us. It’s just that he was the more impulsive one. Or maybe he was simply the braver one, for saying what we both were feeling.
So it turned out that my disappointment in the “dream marriage” and my frustration and embarrassment over the divorce were not going to guarantee a future of single motherhood. My painful previous experiences had yielded me at least a little wisdom, and under the power of that wisdom, every one of the carefully reasoned arguments I had built up in my mind for avoiding a new relationship dissolved.