Repentance

REPENTENCE

It was the same nightmare every night. My precious twelve-year-old daughter, Caroline, was walking toward me. Her hair was blowing back off her beautiful face which had tears running down it. She was surrounded by fire behind her, but she was not burning up. She kept asking me, “Where were you, Daddy? Where were you?” I had no good answer. No matter how hard I tried, I was not able to move. I just wept uncontrollably. The heat I felt from the flames around her increased as she got closer. Then, I would wake up just before she reached me. My body was always sweating profusely, and my heart was palpating at a high rate. I would usually remain awake in a state of anxiety until the day started. Once I went to bed again the next night, I knew the cycle would repeat.

It had taken larger and larger amounts of alcohol every evening to give me at least four hours of sleep before the nightmare would return. Don’t get me wrong. I’m explaining more than I am complaining. I, Kyle Murphy, deserved the punishment. I can’t tell you how many times I wish it had been me who burned up and not my baby girl.

Caroline was twelve at the time of the accident, but she had always acted much older. It was easy for me to rationalize that she was competent enough to stay by herself. She had said that so many times herself. That night, I believed her more because I wanted to go somewhere without her coming along. My deeper belief that she needed to be watched was overruled by what I selfishly wanted. My wife, Emily, was at her second shift job. I had agreed to meet my fuckbuddy, Bethany, at our local Motel 6. It had been several weeks since we had been able to coordinate our schedules. Even then, it was just supposed to be a two-hour tryst that evening and then we would go back to our normal lives until the next time. No one would be the wiser. They never had been before. My problem was that night I blew the chance for me having a normal life ever again.

According to the fire department, the fire had started in the kitchen. I had last seen Caroline in her bedroom as I was about to go out. I told her about the pot of chili on the burner I had made for her supper. She was intensely involved in a video game and waved me off with a: “I’ve got everything under control.” I’m not really sure she heard me, or it was just an automatic response from her to dismiss me, like “Stop bothering me.” I should have been sure she heard me. The fireman who investigated the fire guessed that by the time Caroline realized the danger, her room was cut off by heat and flames. Caroline had called 911, and speed-dialed me and my wife. I was the closest at only a few blocks away and could probably have gotten there in time to rescue her — except I had my phone turned off so as not to be interrupted while committing my act of adultery. When I finally turned my phone on as I was driving to my house, I listened to the frantic call from Caroline which was followed by damning calls from Emily asking where I was. I sped to the house but was only in time to see the last of the flames being put out.

Emily was in a sitting position bawling on the next-door neighbor’s stoop. She was wailing out of control. The neighbor lady was trying her best to hug and otherwise comfort my grieving wife. As soon as Emily saw me, she jumped up and started hitting me with windmill arms. Every ounce of strength went into her blows. When she tired of pummeling me, she cried out, “Where were you? Where were you? You were supposed to be at home. You killed my baby, you son-of-a-bitch!” Then she crumbled to the ground and our neighbor came and consoled her again. I just stood there not bothering to wipe the blood off my face from Emily having broken my nose and cut my lips. I deserved to feel pain and much worse.

I asked in broken sobs, “Where’s… Caroline?”

The neighbor answered, “They haven’t recovered her body yet.”

Emily added, “As if you cared, you asshole.”

I knew better than to try and make an apology to a woman as distraught as my wife. I just stood and watched as the firemen started into the rubble to find her body. There is almost nothing, absolutely nothing, worse than seeing a fireman bringing the burnt dead body of your child out of a fire-ravaged house. The only thing worse is imagining what your child’s last few minutes were like, being consumed by heat and smoke, knowing she would not be rescued, crying for her parents. That image was truly a death of a thousand cuts for me. I knew it must be the same for Emily.

Emily fainted when the fireman holding Caroline’s body approached and the extent of her burns were evident. I threw up, fell on my knees and cried. Emily was taken to the hospital, Caroline to the Morgue. I refused treatment for myself. I didn’t go see either one. I figured if Emily saw me, it would make it worse for her. Seeing Caroline’s body would make it worse for me. I couldn’t stand looking into the eyes of people who knew I had failed my daughter. I was totally numb, and I just left and checked into a motel and started drinking. I figured Emily would go home to her mother’s.

I attended the visitation for my daughter but was directed to a spot away from Emily and her family. Even on the row of seats where I sat, no one, not even my extended family, would sit next to me. I could feel the daggered stares from the people there. I’m surprised the preacher didn’t condemn me to Hell in his sermon. No one who spoke about Caroline made it through their speech without breaking down. I wasn’t allowed to speak. It’s just as well. I couldn’t have anyway. At the burial, I had more than a fleeting thought of jumping in the grave just before the bulldozer dropped the first big load of dirt over the casket. Emily with family and friends went to our church’s Fellowship Hall for the bereavement meal. I went back to a motel where I had stayed since that night and got drunk again.

After communicating with my boss at work after the funeral, I called my lawyer and arranged through a POA for him to negotiate my divorce for me. I instructed him to give Emily anything she wanted. I also promised to send as much money as I could every month. I stayed in the motel until my boss arranged a transfer to an office in another city. No one at the new office was to know the circumstances that prompted my transfer. That worked for a while. It didn’t take long, however, before I started getting ‘The Look.’ I knew they knew. I was essentially shunned from then on. But, I couldn’t really blame them. I deserved it.

My attorney informed me that Emily had filed for divorce asking for everything including my balls in a jar. Someone had seen me and Bethany at the hotel and had told Emily. I felt even worse for her. It probably seemed to Emily that I was continuing to pile up injury after injury on her. I gave her as much of my assets as the judge would allow. She asked and received a lifetime protection order against me saying that it was more for my protection than hers. She tried unsuccessfully to get a lifetime ban on me visiting Caroline’s grave. It probably wasn’t that the judge didn’t want to grant her that. It was just too hard to enforce. My lawyer told me Emily’s final words to me: “Go to Hell!”

My gut response to my wife’s words was: “I’m already there.”

Several people after hearing my story have asked if I considered killing myself during that time. I reply each time, “Not just then but every day, every stinking, fucking, horrible day since.” Then why haven’t I killed myself, you might rightfully ask? It was for Emily’s sake, not that Emily didn’t want me dead. She did. But, if I killed myself, she would get no life insurance payment for a suicide. In addition, she would not get the lifelong alimony I planned on paying. It was still a close decision every time I contemplated suicide because I had so much trouble functioning on a day-to-day basis and face the world.

In the new town where I worked, I lived mostly on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, tortilla chips and Diet Pepsi. I was living, make that surviving, in a cheap apartment in a bad part of town. I was mugged several times although I never reported one. The highest payoff for the muggers was $12. I had no need for lots of money and I had no credit cards. I used very little utilities. I had no TV or internet. My Trac Fone was the cheapest they sold, and I seldom used it. It had a new number that I told no one about it except my lawyer. I sent Emily every dime I could.

My attorney would let me know every now and then when someone wanted to hear from me, usually it was alleged to be someone who just wanted to ask if I was all right. I hate when people ask a question that they must know the answer to. The answer was obvious – “No, things are not all right, and they never will be thanks to my negligence.” I never bothered to reply to anyone, not even my parents who adored Caroline. I wanted to but I broke down several times just trying to dial their number. Thankfully, they passed along the word that they loved me and were there if I needed them. They were willing to give me time to heal. I didn’t think one lifetime was enough

I lingered in the pit of depression for a couple of years. One day I received a message from my lawyer that my wife had re-married and had petitioned for any payment from me to stop. I told him I wanted to continue to pay regardless. He was blunt: “Emily is emphatic that she wants nothing left to connect you with her. She refuses to take what she is calling your ‘blood money.’ Emily suggests you use your money for some act of repentance. Actually, her first suggestion was that you shove it up your ass.”

Repentance? Repentance? Suffering and punishment I had thought a lot about but repentance? How the hell does one achieve repentance for causing the death of their child? I was clueless. I needed help, so I went to the best therapist I knew, my favorite bartender. Actually, he had a degree in Psychology. I explained to him about what I had done that caused the death of my daughter and the need for repentance.

He asked me, “Do you know for sure if you could have saved her if you had been in the house?”

“I think so. I’m sure I would have tried.”

“Since you don’t know if you could have saved her for sure or not, is there something that could have been done so that she could have survived on her own without anyone else’s help?”

“She was trapped on the second floor. Having an outside staircase from her window would have saved her.”

“I don’t know what type of windows you had in your house. If your house is like mine, I probably would have trouble opening one wide enough for me to get out. Most of them stick. Could your daughter have been able to open the window to her bedroom to get out on her own?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“I suggest you figure out a solution to that problem and you may save some other kids’ lives even if you can’t go back and save your child’s. That sounds like a possible path to repentance to me.”

I realized then that I had spent my time since Caroline’s death mourning what I, personally, had lost like that was going to get Caroline to forgive me. I never considered using her death as motivation to help save the lives of other children. If she had had another way out of the house, her death could have been avoided. I wondered how many other children had died in a similar circumstance. What could be done to prevent deaths like Caroline’s. I left the bar with a purpose and started doing some research on the issue.

Over time, I found the best folding ladders there were. I found out the installation instructions for securing the ladders. I revised an instruction manual for how to use the ladders. I found a window replacement company that could install low-priced windows that were easy to open yet were secure from outside entry.

I asked the local volunteer fire department if I could join. I was frank about what I wanted to do. They said that I had to pass a physical first. I flunked big time on my first try. I spent six months getting into shape while I did more research and gathered supporters. Once I passed the physical and got on the roll at the fire station, I also got permission to merge my idea with the department’s Fire Prevention Plan. We went door-to-door offering a free fire inspection that pointed out possible fire hazards and gave out smoke detectors. If the house were two storied, we went over the evacuation plan for people caught upstairs. Most people had not even considered what would happen if they were trapped. We explained about the folding ladders. When several local realtors heard what we were doing, they recommended to new buyers that they call us for an inspection.

The Fire Department used money from my pocket and a few supporters to provide the ladders, the installation, and the supervised drills for an escape for the second-floor occupants of as many people as we could afford. The biggest problem were windows that small children could open to throw the ladder out of were pretty expensive. I worked the best deal I could with the window replacement company but demand quickly overwhelmed the money needed to buy the supplies even though some families contributed toward the expenses. Members of the volunteer unit started contributing more money. Other people and churches started giving us donations. One of the fireman’s wives was a CPA and got us a foundation established whose donations were tax-deductible. The foundation was called Caroline’s Ladders of Hope. I cried when they announced the founding of the charity. We encouraged people to put it on their Facebook page.

The program continued to grow with our limited resources for several years. Our waiting list for ladders was getting so long that I began to fear that some child might die while their home was on the wait list. I wasn’t aware of it, but my fire station nominated me for National Volunteer Fireman of the Year. I won and my story made Fox and Friends morning show. I was interviewed on national TV. I broke down and cried when I told Caroline’s story. I admitted to the nation that I was at fault and this program was my repentance. Our website got almost 100,000 hits the first day our segment was broadcast. Our donations were well over a million dollars. Other volunteer and regular fire departments asked to replicate our program model. We required free ladders, free installation of ladders and windows, if needed, and mandatory drills by the occupants to make sure they knew how to use the ladders. We accepted donations but did not require them.

It was less than six months from our first installation before we got our first reported ‘save.’ A nine-year-old girl was able to escape a fire using one of Caroline’s ladders. We got a boost in website hits and donations from the publicity. It was seven months before we got our first complaint. Surprisingly, it wasn’t from parents whose kids were sneaking out of the house by using the ladders. The complaint was from Emily, and it was personal.

Emily had heard about the program and, instead of being thrilled, she was horrified. She sent me an email:

“Dear Asshole: Just when I think you couldn’t get any lower than the scum of the earth, you come up with something new. Using our daughter’s name to raise money for some bogus program just so you can get fame and personal fortune is the worst insult you could make to her precious memory. I know now that your supposed sorrow at her death was fake. Well, I have instructed my lawyer to sue you for use of our daughter’s name without my permission. I will also be asking the Federal Trade Commission to investigate how the money at ‘Caroline’s Ladders for Hope’ is actually used. I have already contacted several news media to tell them the truth about you and your organization.

“In case you were wondering, I have now changed my wish that you go to Hell. Your actions misusing my daughter’s name have insured that will happen. My new wish is that you ROT in Hell.”

My attorney responded: “Dear Mrs. Granger (her new married name): My client is in receipt of your email and your mistaken judgments. First of all, you have no legal rights to restrict the use of your daughter’s name any more than does her father. Secondly, the assertions of anything being done to make a profit off her name should you choose to make them public will be met swiftly by legal action for libel and/or slander. The audits of the independent audit firm is readily available and will show that any money donated to the foundation has gone solely for the purchases of materials. All personnel time by persons, including your ex-husband, is donated.

“We do agree, however, that there is cause for legal action. After I checked the wording of the judge’s ruling on your divorce, I find that you are in violation of the restraining order you insisted on. Not only was your husband not to contact you, you were not to contact him. Your breach of the order is actionable, and you will receive a cease and desist order soon. We will be requesting a substantial financial judgment if we can prove potential bad publicity your actions have caused the foundation to lose funding. You may also want to reconsider making your lawsuit public not just because of the potential lawsuit, but because it will show the world that you have become a vindictive, petty woman.”

Nothing more was received from Emily or her attorney, but in a few weeks, there was a surprise letter from her husband: Milton Granger.

“Dear Mr. Murphy: I wish to apologize for my wife (soon to be ex-wife) and her rants against you and your organization. When I married Emily, I hoped there was a loving, caring woman under all that suffering from Caroline’s death and the hate she had for you. Like many others, I was carried away with pity for her. The problem was that she never got better. If anything, she got worse. I came to realize that she had married me for the money. She was so dead-set on breaking any contact with you, she used her marriage to me to break the one financial tie you two had. I kept hoping that her hate would die down. Instead, it has consumed her.

“The final event that has caused me to file for divorce was her apoplectic response to Caroline’s Ladders. She was wanting to write an editorial to send to every news outlet in the country. She petitioned Facebook and You Tube and other social media to ban the website and any positive remarks about it. Her self-described ‘finest moment’ was the interview on ABC. She blasted you and your use of Caroline’s name and memory to secure funds which were dubiously accounted for and for whom there had been no proof of a single child that had been helped. Her last lines in the show were: “Name me one child that has been saved by Caroline’s Ladders. I bet you can’t.” I have been contacted by ABC. They are planning a follow-up show. It seems that the response to the initial broadcast was overwhelming, and they have been fact-checking the people who named names of those ‘saved’ by Caroline’s Ladders.

“Just to make sure you know how I stand on the matter, you will find enclosed a check for $100,000 for Caroline’s Ladders. As for Emily, I pray that she gets professional help.

“God Bless. Milton Granger”

*****

AFTERMATH

Before legal action could be taken against Emily, there was another tragedy. Kyle was out in his truck coming back from the grocery when he got the call. The house that was on fire was close by and was one where he had personally installed a ladder. He rushed to the scene with his firefighting gear in the truck. He was the first to arrive. When he saw the blaze, he decided not to take the time to put it on. A little girl’s life was at stake. He rushed to and broke down the front door with his axe. He saw flames were at the bottom of the stairs but from a couple of the bottom steps up, there were no flames. He did not hesitate. Kyle ran and jumped, landing on the fifth step. He quickly ran up the rest of the stairs.