Part 15.

“That part. I was 15.”

Over the past few weeks I’ve gotten numerous phone calls, text messages, inbox messages, and comments on posts that are apologies. Apologies from numerous people, all saying the same thing: “You are correct in what you’re saying, I am sorry for my/our part in that”. Some of those apologies have accompanied wild theories and assumptions about what people had guessed, gossiped, or gathered about what happened to my Mom. It’s been crazy to hear some of that stuff. Crazier to hear that adults, grown-ass people, chose to do and say so many things when she was killed, except the one thing that should have been obvious to do and say something about: Check on, see about, and comfort, her children.

“They treated y’all like y’all were poison.”

My Dad said that to me a little over a year ago in our first conversation about my Mom, since she was murdered. The crazy thing is that he said that and it is absolutely true. What he didn’t realize is that he too treated me and my Mother’s memory like it was poison, as well. He’d avoided, averted, and abandoned her memory- with me- for all that time. To date, we have had 4 discussions about my Mother’s murder and events, or details, surrounding it. 3 of those discussions have come in the past few weeks. The first one was March 22, 2022.

When I say that I’ve been the only one FIGHTING, digging, and pursuing this, as far as the investigation part; I’ve literally been the only one, for the past 29+ years!

None of my Mother’s family, friends, coworkers, church-family, or anything, EVER, participated in any effort to aid and assist in getting her killer brought to justice.

And the majority of those people knew/know who did it. A lot of them have said this to me over the past few weeks. They’ve added elements and details that I didn’t know all of this time. They’ve supplied what would have been excellent corroborating information that would have assisted the authorities in establishing motive and reason that, along with all of the “circumstantial” evidence the police DID HAVE, should have been a substantial case to present to a jury. Things that I’ve been able to confirm through sources and resources that are available. But, the fact of the matter is that SO MANY PEOPLE KNEW. And no one said anything. Ever.

Can you imagine what that has been for me? The sense of betrayal. The confusion. The hurt. The guilt. The frustration. The anger. The freaking silence!?!

Do you see how it has been difficult for me to trust ANY human? Any authority? Any family? Any friend?

Do you know what this had been for me? Mentally. Emotionally. Psychologically.

Because, I knew. I always knew. I screamed what I knew for so long.

When people say to me, things like: “I don’t know how you didn’t go crazy” or “There is no way that I could be so calm about this” or “I would be dead or in jail by now if I were you”… I don’t have much by the way of a response. Because I don’t know why I didn’t go crazy. I don’t know what stopped me from getting my own vengeance all of these years. I don’t know why I never fell into the deeps of depression and started using drugs, alcohol, or got into a life of crime. I don’t know why I chose to attack myself with guilt, hurt, and pain, instead of projecting that stuff to the person that did this to us.

I do know this: I have never spent one moment, since the morning I discovered my Mother’s body, wondering who murdered her. I’ve always known. Not a guess, or assumption, or a feeling. Just the truth and what I knew.

—-

Imagine what a “Yo Momma” joke has been for me.

(I just put that there because the tv is on and someone just said a “Yo Momma” joke. I remember, as a kid, getting ready to stab someone because they made a joke about my Mom.)

—-

I was 15.

I’ve been replaying the details of this, constantly, for the last 29+ years. Unable to move forward. Incapable of moving on. Having an impossible time with trying to “get over it”.

Here’s the dumbfounding part: This 29+ years has never been about Hazel. I promise. Not because I forgave her. Not because I pity her, or feel sorry for her. Not because I have sympathy and empathy for her children. Not because I still consider them all “family”, because they are literally family to my family. And I was raised knowing all of them as family. She is guilty. She did it. I know she did it. That is why she has never said one word to me since this happened. That is why she has ignored my requests to meet. That is why she has ignored my messages. She can’t face me. I’m the biggest reminder of what she did. Because she knows I know what she did.

But this has been about none of that.

This 29+ years has been about EVERYONE else walking away, letting this go, leaving us alone. Literally ALONE.

Yesterday there was a group of people in a room with me. We were talking about life, about politics and rap music, and all kinds of other stuff when someone says, “See, you seem so much lighter”. I smiled, but before I could answer, someone else in the room says, “I’ve been reading your posts. I admire your courage. You’re helping me so much. I can only imagine the freedom you feel”, and I smiled some more.

When people hear me talk about this, they can’t believe it. It’s too crazy to believe. When they read about it, it’s still unfathomable. The scale and scope of the silence and secrecy is supreme. I’m a writer and I couldn’t have made up a story this crazy. But I lived it. I had to deal with it. I’ve been dealing with it.

Yet, now, I do feel lighter. I’ve gotten some clarity that I needed forever. Might not ever get “closure”, I’m not sure there is such a thing. But I really appreciate the clarity. After all of this time, all these years, the clarity that I’m receiving from the calls, the messages, the apologies… helpful. The Police department, for years, unreturned my calls, messages, or inquiries for information. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve gotten information that has been jaw-dropping. Even with the disappointment of certain realities, I’ve gotten some profound clarity. The States Attorneys office, same. Not much information, but some jaw-dropping revelations.

I’m grateful for all of it. Because 15-year-old me deserves a rest. And deserves the opportunity to connect with my 45-year-old self. So that we, I, can move forward.

I’ve (we’ve) carried this for far too long. Only God could explain the strength it took. The patience it took. The resolve. The willpower and faith.

Out of all of it will be something beautiful. I’m working on a way to help others through what my experience has been. This has been one hell of an experience! I’ve still got so much to say.

And I’m going to say it.

All of it.

©️2023 Cornelious “See” Flowers