May 9, 1994

"Never forget that, until the day deigns to reveal the future of man, the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in the two words, wait and hope."
                                                        Alexandre Dumas  -  Count of Monte Christo

In this morning's mail there was a small package from Robin, a thank you note for the gifts I sent her and a small book of Yeats' poetry. In her note she said I must like Yeats a lot because I quote him quite often. That I do! I read once that he was the most quoted poet in the English language. While reading last week's Time magazine, there were two quotes from Yeats in the review of the TV movie of Stephen King's, The Stand.

There has been much on the news today about John Wayne Gacy, the serial killer who has made a small fortune while being on death row selling paintings of clowns. He is suppose to be executed at midnight tonight. I know how he must feel this minute awaiting his end, hoping against hope - as he watches the second hand tick off the minutes while the minute hand marches off the hours, with all time closing in on midnight. At the appointed hour, the butcher of children and young men will be killed for crimes and sins.

Yes, I know how Mister Gacy feels because I have been on death row for the past five months - hoping against hope and praying for a miracle. But I don't what I would do with hope if I received it and I don't know what type of miracle I need. I am being butchered to death by depression, despair, loneliness, hopelessness and sadness - multiple manipulating and mutilating murderers. And my time is coming to a close.

My heart is in shambles, smashed and shattered. My mind is held captive and crippled by clamoring chaos and confusion. How I can still write in this journal is beyond me, yet I strive to write everyday because it is important to me - for these words are a remembrance for my family. Most days I'm in such a mental daze raging anguish, that it's a miracle I haven't been in a car accident or hit by a car while crossing the street. There have been many times when I have somehow snapped out of this daze not knowing how I got where I was or why I was there.

On Saturday night I called D'Angelo's Sub Shop for two subs. A young girl delivered them, I remember paying her and giving her a tip. The next thing I knew it was 7:00am Sunday morning. I don't remember eating the subs and don't remember going to bed. The exact same thing happened last night with one difference - I remember watching 60 Minutes but can't recall any of the stories or segments. Things like that happened every day - mental magical moments of disappearance.

Yet, I can remember Maggie and I going on picnics along the banks of the Charles River and listening to the Boston Pops on the Esplanade. I can remember Mimi and I spending four days in Bar Harbor, Maine, and watching the Ford-Carter Presidential Debate on our motel room's TV. I can even remember when I was five years old and in the first grade at Saint Gregory's and being envious of classmates whose fathers worked at Baker's Chocolate. But I can't remember what I ate for dinner last night. Go figure!

In his poem, Death, Yeats writes, "Man awaits his end dreading and hoping all."  If there is no last second reprieve, John Wayne Gacy will be dead in nine hours. Does he wait and hope, dreading all as he paces within his cell?  Is he as frightening in person as his clowns are on canvas? How many people are waiting outside the prison walls ready to applaud his death? How many dark, dirty secrets still hide in his heart that are too scary to share?

I, too, wait and hope, dreading and hoping all. Thoughts pace across and through my mind as my remaining minutes tick away. I, too, am on death watch - the angel of death will grab Gacy first, then I'm next in line. Now, I'll share a dark secret that hides in my heart - when I die Maggie, her mother and friends will applaud my death. And the clapping sounds they make will be the angel of death closing in on them.

3:00pm   -   Bradford Inn   -   Chatham, MA
.:

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