I was 29 when my sister died. And, because she couldn’t do anything normal, even her death took us all on an unexpected journey. I speak about it often because the death of your only sibling is pivotal for anyone, but the circumstances surrounding her death stripped me of the axis I had always spun around and set me adrift.
Condensing a story so long I needed to write a book to encapsulate — her sudden death at 33 was deemed suspicious. Her autopsy was refused at time of death and my family was dragged through the first exhumation case in Westmoreland County in 25 years and a police investigation. To add to that, my young marriage couldn’t handle the weight of the tragedy, leaving me a single mom in the middle of it all. At the exact same time, my career took an unexpected turn and I was asked to be a co-host on QVC. All I knew was gone and I was left to inch forward … the only direction left to go.
We got the call after many agonizing months of investigation to come to District Attorney Peck’s office to review the case and Dr. Cyril Wecht’s findings. It was of course scheduled on the exact day that I had to make the 4 1/2 hour drive to West Chester, PA to do my very, first show on QVC. I remember walking into the courthouse trying to steady my shaking knees. The Detective we had gotten to know well during the process greeted us at the DA’s door and took us on a winding walk down hallways stacked with banker’s boxes of files to seat us in a conference room encircled by law books. DA Peck and the group of detectives wasted little time speaking. Lots of words followed, but the most important ones were this: “We don’t know what happened and there is not enough evidence to prove in court. We cannot proceed.”
“That’s it“, I asked needing more. “But, I need to know what happened. You are telling us we will never know?”
They all just shrugged. They couldn’t tell me. I kind of knew that they couldn’t in my breaking heart. But, I needed something. Justice. Something. Answers. Something. More. I felt like I was falling, even while seated in the uncomfortable wooden chair. I got nothing but shown the door with my parents quietly trailing behind.
And, then … I got into my car, waved goodbye to my equally stunned parents and hit the road to cross the state into a different unknown — QVC. This was the song that came on, and I drove as the tears streamed down my face cooled by the wind blowing through my open window. I blasted it as loud as my radio would allow … and drove forward, the only direction I had left to go.
I arrived at QVC, walked through the intimidating glass-fronted building, check-in and got wound down a long hallway to the Green Room. I think I should have been nervous, but I was so filled with the knowledge of how short life was and so automatically hardened by how quickly it could all change, that I simply didn’t care. I had a job to do. And, that job was forward … the only place left I had to go.
They handed me a beeper to clip to my hip that would go off when I was due on set. I sat and stared in the side lit mirrors as my hair and make-up was done quietly, hoping they didn’t notice that my eyes were swollen from the hours of tears that shook off somewhere in the Blue Mountains. I listened to the banter in the Green Room and watched handlers excited or disappointed over the line graphs on computers set up showing them their sales per minute. The world … counted in minutes for them, just like I was now counting all of them in my head. My buzzer went off, I walked to set. A rushed host looked at me and smiled, “you ready?” I nodded as the robotic camera turned to us and the lights brightened before me.
Show time. The show must go on. And, it did. Forward … the only way to go.
How is this political? It doesn’t seem to correlate except to give you the fist-pounding, gut-wrenching, heartfelt reasoning why I have zero tolerance for the victim mentality. I have no patience for the destructive protests. I have no patience for people believing the President or any can hurt or destroy them. You think I don’t know injustice? Say HER name. My sister was Danielle. Say it.
Danielle.
And, guess what … she still will never come back. I will never know how she died. Justice will never come. But, I move forward … because that is the ONLY place to go.
You can burn, you can loot, you can blame, you can scream and it will never change a thing. You will waste (if you are so, so lucky) 100 years you have to live. And, I will ruin the surprise for you — life isn’t always just, it isn’t always fair and sometimes … it’s not even kind. But, it is the only one you get.
Change, life, beauty, forgiveness, redemption, passion, growth — they only happen when you move one way … forward … because it’s the only direction that will ever get you anywhere good.
Pretty Political 