Mr. McDowell’s tone was kind, but firm. “That won’t happen,” he said. “She’ll stand trial as an adult. You can be sure of that.”
For the past two months, very little had been happening as far as Erin’s legal situation was concerned. Now that was about to change. I was terrified at the prospect that my daughter would have to stand trial as an adult. If the judge certified Erin, she would be tried in an adult court and face punishment in an adult prison.
Erin was only sixteen. She hadn’t even had her driver’s license for a year, and now she faced the possibility of a life sentence without parole, incarcerated with hardened criminals. In my mind, her biggest worry at her age should have been getting into trouble for staying out too late. I didn’t care what they said about her; she was little more than a child. She wasn’t ready to face adult life on the outside, let alone the harsh reality of prison life. How could she stand trial as an adult?
I felt as if I were losing my last family member. I had already had Penny and the boys taken away from me. Now the prosecutors wanted to take Erin, too. Once again the wounds that had begun to heal were being reopened.
I was back at work, and throughout the day the weight of this burden became heavier and heavier. For the first time in two months, thoughts of suicide began to creep back into my mind. What was the use in going on, anyway? I’d lost everything, and I was just kidding myself to try to believe that anything was going to change.
On my way home, I was so overwhelmed with grief that I knew I had to talk to someone about it. I don’t know why, but I decided to stop at Larry and Virginia’s house. They welcomed me in, and almost immediately I began to pour out my heart.
“I had to talk to you,” I said. “I don’t know what’s happening. I was getting better and handling things pretty well, but ever since Bubba’s birthday the grief is killing me again.” I broke down and cried. “It just hurts so bad.”
Larry and Virginia held my hands, and we wept together.
“I just want you to know how much I loved your daughter,” I told them. “I couldn’t have asked for a better wife, and the kids couldn’t have had a better mother.”
We spent a few minutes together, crying and asking God for His grace and mercy, and when I left, I felt better. One of the things I was learning through the grieving process was the power of tears. When the pain and sadness brought me to a breaking point, I would cry, and although my tears didn’t change the circumstances, they lightened the burden and enabled me to get up and go on again. I had grown up in a culture that tends to look down on a man if he cries and considers tears unmanly. All I knew was that when I allowed myself to cry, it helped.
When I got back to my RV, a light rain had started falling. I opened the door and pulled the screen into place. Then I set up a chair and just sat there for a while, looking out at the sunset and listening to the rain gently pelting the roof. As I listened to the birds sing and felt the cool evening breeze blowing through the trailer, I began to view the world around me in a different way.
Life does go on.
I realized that even though Penny and the boys had died, there was still a world all around me, whether it was animals, or people going about their lives, or the rising and setting of the sun. The universe, the world, and life in general were continuing. That was what I needed to grasp. In spite of the way I often felt, the world didn’t end when I lost my family. And as long as I was still alive, I had a responsibility to honor their memories by moving forward.
Even so, my depression that week was so deep that I didn’t know if I could manage to do that. Was God still there? Was He still working in my life? Or had I just concocted all of this ministry stuff out of my imagination?
As I drove to church on Wednesday night, the burden was still heavy on my mind and heart.
“Lord, please speak peace to my heart tonight. Would You let me know, one way or another, that You’re still there?”
When I arrived at the church, Brother Todd told me he had something for me and handed me a large brown envelope. When I opened it, tears filled my eyes. There were six cards, all from different parts of the country, all sent by people I didn’t know. They just wanted me to know that they were praying and still cared about me. I had my answer.
Thank you, Lord.
NIGHT CRISIS
“I just wish it was all over.”
Rodney Gipson sat across the table from me as we finished our dinner. I was so thankful for someone to talk to. Although I had good times and bad times, overall the depression that had set in with Bubba’s birthday was showing no sign of letting up. I knew that a lot of it had to do with Erin’s upcoming court appearance. Rodney had called earlier in the day and asked if I’d like to go out to eat. He didn’t have to ask twice.
It still amazed me how God would take someone I’d known for twenty years but had never been close to and use that person to be such a blessing in my life. Even though I still struggled deeply with grief and depression, Rodney and Sherrie were like life preservers, and their house a lifeboat. They lived in Forney, about an hour and fifteen minutes away from Emory, so it took a bit of effort for him to take me out to dinner. But that didn’t discourage him from reaching out to me. We agreed to meet at the Dairy Palace in Canton, Texas, about halfway between our two towns.
“I wish I could just make it all go away,” I said. “The worst part is that I feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do for Erin. Nothing that will change her situation, anyway.”
Rodney reminded me that God had everything under control.
I nodded. “That’s the only thing that makes it bearable. I can rest in Him and trust Him to work it out for good.”
Rodney and I connected so well that we had a habit of losing track of time. When we noticed the restaurant thinning out, we realized that it was already past nine o’clock.
“We’d better break this up,” I said. “We both have to get to work early tomorrow.”
Before getting into our cars, Rodney and I embraced.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for leaving your family to be with me tonight. I really needed to talk.”
June days are long, and the sun had just set when I started the long drive back to Emory. By the time I drove down the country road to my property, it was almost ten thirty, and the night was pitch-black. It felt strange to be out in the country and away from the city lights. Strange—and frightening.
I never used to think twice about how dark it was out in the woods, but now I thought about it all the time.
I sat there for a few minutes with the engine running, my headlights illuminating my RV. It looked as if a black hole had swallowed up the rest of the world. Beads of cold sweat formed on my forehead. I could almost hear my heart pounding against my chest.
I couldn’t get out of my truck. It would be a walk of only about ten feet, but I would have to turn off the headlights and walk in the darkness the whole way.
I couldn’t do it.
What was I thinking? Why did I move back to where my family was murdered?
Anybody could be hiding out there, waiting to attack me. And they would get away with it. Nobody would hear them. Nobody would know what happened to me until it was too late.
I knew that for a fact. It had already happened once.
I threw the truck into reverse and backed out of my driveway. Tommy and Helen Gaston were just a few hundred yards up the road. I could get their help. Tommy would come down and watch while I got out of my truck and walked into the RV.
When I got to the Gastons’ place, it was dark, and their gate was locked. I had forgotten that they left on a trip the day before.
I’ve got to get ahold of myself. There’s nothing out there to be afraid of. Nothing at all.
I drove back to my property and pulled into the driveway, but again I couldn’t get out. After a few minutes I decided to drive to Brother Wayne Wolfe’s house. He and his wife lived just down the road. They’d understand and help me.
&nbs
p; But their house was dark too, and there was no car in the driveway.
I didn’t know what to do, so I just drove aimlessly, killing time and trying to figure out a plan of action.
This is crazy. I can’t drive around all night. I’ve got to go to work in the morning, and I need my rest. God, I have to go home. Please help me.
I pulled back into the driveway and cut the engine.
It’s only a few feet. I can do this.
I threw open the door and ran as fast as I could to the RV.
As soon as I was inside, I locked the door behind me. My heart was pounding so hard that it felt as if it were in my throat. But I’d rest in a minute.
Before I relaxed, I had to conduct my nightly search of the RV. Because of its small size, that didn’t take very long. First came a visual scan. Then I opened the bathroom door and made sure no one was hiding in there. The bathroom check also included a quick look behind the shower curtain. The only other place where someone could hide was on the far side of my bed.
Nobody there.
I sat down on my bed and waited for my heart rate to return to normal.
It was late, but there was still one thing I needed to do. I picked up my cell phone and called my pastor, Todd McGahee.
“Brother Todd,” I said, “when you get a chance, could you come out here and pray over my land and ask God to bless it and take away my fear? I need Him to put a hedge of protection around me so that I can move forward.”
I knew that the only true peace I would have must come from God Himself. But I also knew that I would have to continue trusting Him, even in the face of fear. He had promised that He would overrule my fear as I relied on Him: “You will not be afraid of the terror by night” (Psalm 91:5).
Nevertheless, I made sure that I would never again come back to a dark property at night. The next day I bought a security light, and after Tommy and I installed it, the area was lit up like a high-end auto dealership.
FATHER’S DAY
Since March 1, I’d managed to get through Matthew and Tyler’s birthdays, Mother’s Day, Easter, and Memorial Day. But the day I dreaded most was Sunday, June 15—Father’s Day. More than any other, that day reminded me that I’d lost my family. In past years we’d go out to dinner, and the kids would give me presents, which they had usually made themselves. Penny would go out of her way to make the day special for me. We’d sit around the house, maybe gather around Penny’s piano and sing together. Father’s Day was a family day.
Now Father’s Day had become one holiday that I would desperately like to forget. I wished there were a way I could just skip that day and miss it altogether. To make matters worse, I was still struggling with the depression that had begun on Bubba’s birthday. And if that weren’t enough, I had the added stress of knowing what was going to happen the day after Father’s Day. On Monday, June 16, I was going to Buck Files’s office in Tyler to meet with him and Lisa Tanner from the Texas State Attorney General’s office. They were going to lay out all the evidence in the case, including the evidence against Erin. So all day on Father’s Day, I would have to look forward to the next day, when I would hear why the prosecutors were convinced my daughter should be put away for the rest of her life.
That’s what was running through my mind on Thursday, June 12. I’m not a superstitious person, and I don’t believe in luck, either good or bad, but the next day would be Friday the thirteenth. That certainly seemed appropriate, because it was the beginning of the toughest four-day stretch I would face since the murders.
But once again, God sent people to help me through the entire weekend.
I was sitting alone in my RV on that Thursday evening when Brother Wayne Wolfe and his wife, Diane, stopped by out of the blue and asked if they could take me out to dinner. The Wolfes had been by my side since the day this all began. The night I was shot, they arrived at Tommy and Helen’s house even before the sheriff ’s deputy and the EMTs.
We went out to a little fish place near Alba and had a quiet dinner. But when they asked me how I was doing, I had to be honest.
“Not too good, right now,” I said. “I’m still pretty depressed, and I’m having trouble sleeping at night.”
Brother Wayne and Diane didn’t even hesitate. “Why don’t you come spend the night with us?” Wayne said. Diane agreed.
I didn’t need to be persuaded. They dropped me off at my RV, and I picked up a few things and then returned to their house. Wayne and I talked late into the night, long after Diane and their son, Justin, went to bed. Part of the time we talked about the things I was struggling with, but mostly we just enjoyed casual conversation.
Staying with Brother Wayne and his family definitely helped, but I still had a whole weekend to get through. Before I even had time to worry about it, God provided again. On Friday, Rodney Gipson called and invited me to spend Saturday and Sunday with him and his family. I especially looked forward to staying with Rodney because of where he and Sherrie lived. Forney seemed like another world to me.
When I was at Rodney and Sherrie’s house, I could put all my worries and fears away, even if just for a day or so.
On Saturday, Rodney and I went to the new Bass Pro Shop that had recently opened in Garland, right on the western shore of Lake Ray Hubbard. It was a magnificent place, and we had a wonderful time looking at everything. Later in the afternoon we went back to Rodney’s house, and I did something that I never thought I’d do.
I watched golf.
Rodney wanted to watch the golf tournament, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t like golf. So we sat and watched together, and believe it or not, I had a wonderful time. It wasn’t so much the golf I enjoyed as it was the chance to relax, to take my mind off of everything that was going on. My life had become so hectic, so filled with activities, that I had no idea how tired I actually was. Between work, speaking, court appearances, meetings with lawyers, and visiting Erin three times a week, I wasn’t getting much rest. A weekend with Rodney and Sherrie was as good as going to a retreat center. For at least that weekend, I was able to slow down and really rest.
On Sunday I went to church with Rodney and Sherrie, and we had lunch with Sherrie’s father and the rest of her family. It definitely made my Father’s Day easier to bear, but as the afternoon wore on, I knew I had one more stop to make.
I went home by way of Wills Point and stopped at the cemetery.
When I ordered the headstones for the cemetery, I wanted each one to reflect something of that family member’s personality. That way, anyone who came by and saw them would know at least a little about my family. On Penny’s stone, a piano keyboard was inscribed over her name. A music staff with notes floated upward from the keys. Matthew’s stone also reflected his love for music, but in his case it was a guitar and harmonica with a staff and notes streaming out. Over Matthew’s name I decided to add Bubba. Of course, I could imagine him up in heaven, rolling his eyes and sighing at the nickname he’d tried so hard to shake now set in stone. Tyler’s stone featured a little wagon. It was the only thing he’d wanted that past Christmas, and he dearly loved it. Over Tyler’s name was a Superman-type shield sprouting wings on each side, but with a T inside it instead of an S. Tyler was our flying superhero. Who knows? Maybe he really could fly now.
Tears blurred my vision.
“I just had to stop by and tell you how much I miss you. I love you so much. I always thought I’d go first and you’d be the ones burying me.”
I knew they couldn’t hear me, but somehow it made me feel better to talk to them, to tell them how much I missed them, how I wanted to be with them. But I also knew that God had His reasons for keeping me alive. Erin was one of those reasons.
Later that evening, I wrote in my journal:
I never thought that I would lose my entire family in one night and be all alone at the age of forty-one. Erin is all that I have left and I will stand by her side no matter what. I know she needs me, and I need her. I believe that God saved my l
ife that night for a reason, and one of those reasons is to be here for her. I couldn’t imagine her going through this without anyone, so I stand by her side and pray every day. There are a lot of questions that I have about that night, and some of those questions may never be answered in this lifetime. One thing that I do believe is that Erin loved her family and wouldn’t want us dead. I believe they came that night, and things went bad very fast, and she had no control. So I keep trusting God to see us through, and that in the end He will get the victory and that His will be done.
I went to bed that night knowing that the next day—when I went to Tyler to see the evidence—would be difficult. I had no idea how difficult.
Chapter 21
Certified
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust!”
—PSALM 9I:I-2
I DROVE TOWARD TYLER, Texas, wishing I could be just about anywhere else on the planet. If ever I dreaded a meeting, it was this one. Ironically, this was a meeting that I had requested, because I wanted everything laid out on the table. I wanted to know what my rights were, what the evidence against Erin was, and everything else that I could find out. They asked if I would like to have my attorney present to answer any questions I might have, and I told them I would.
We set up a meeting for Monday, June 16, at Buck Files’s office. Lisa Tanner and her assistant flew in, and I drove down to meet them.
I knew I was going to hear a lot of things I didn’t want to hear. I wanted to know everything that had happened that night, for the sake of my own sense of closure. I needed to know who did what to whom. And I needed to understand how my daughter could possibly have been involved.
Immediately after the murders, Erin was unaccounted for, and the sheriff’s personnel assumed that she had died in the fire. It was a few hours later, when a deputy went to the trailer of Charles Waid’s brother, that they found her.
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