Monthly Archives: March 2024

Time to move on. Part 29.

You ever been nowhere, all over, and in the same place, all at one time?

Part 29.

What. The. Fvck. Do. I. Do. Now?

Today is March 25, 2024.

I saw my Mother for the last time, 30 years ago to the date.

For 28 of those anniversary’s I mourned, depressed, stressed and struggled. I spent those 28 anniversary’s full of anxiety and anger and apprehension. I’d gotten used to that. Use to the sadness, use to the pain, use to the hurt.

I got used to having a bogeyman.

For the last 62 days I’ve been, well, I don’t know.

The woman that murdered my Mom died 62 days ago. The woman that is related to my family. The woman that I grew up knowing as family. The woman that lived with us for the last 8 years of my Mother’s life. The woman that my Mother literally beat me to trust, respect, and acknowledge. The woman that I would later find out was actually in a relationship with my Mom for those 8 years.

The woman that, for all intents and purposes, committed the perfect murder. She escaped justice and prosecution. And lived out the last 29 years of her life, free.

Before anyone comments about what her guilt, conscience, and spirit may have suffered through for all of that time, know that none of that matters to a me that knew she was right around the corner. She worked down the street. She hung out at the bar over there. She slept in that house. She lived and breathed this air.

All the while avoiding me. Not speaking to me. Not responding to me. Not acknowledging my letters, emails, and messages with requests to meet.

Crazy thing, I wanted answers more than I wanted her apprehended. Hazel knew things, about my Mom, that no one else knew. She could have, or I believed she could have, filled in so many gaps and blanks that I’ve struggled to complete thoughts about.

I spent almost 30 years doing EVERYTHING that I could to get justice for my Mom. With no results. So I beat myself up, I hurt myself, I deprived myself.

I felt guilty and ashamed that I couldn’t do more. I felt defeated. I felt undeserving of anything good for myself, for having been incapable of doing more for my Mom. I felt like I disappointed her. I was disappointing her. I was disappointed in myself.

Everything I even tried to do good, I would eventually sabotage or shutter, to satisfy my self-loathing.

I feel stupid trying to explain all of it.

Today, I woke up in pain. Not hurting pain, just feeling pain. Realizing that I’m not numb anymore. Hazel is gone and I’m here. I’m still here and I have something to do.

I’m so used to waking up on this day and being extra mad at Hazel. There’s no Hazel to be mad at.

That smile that you’re seeing in my videos…That smile is real. That smile is the inside of me coming back out. That smile is my purpose, power, my sigh of relief.

I delight in no death. But I’m happy that she’s gone. I feel like I can finally be, here.

Am I rambling?

God is real y’all.

Here is a true story:

This had bothered me so much that I’d begun to lose almost everything. In the last few years, especially after being presented with some more information and details about my Mom’s case and our story, I’d really fell into a dark and deeply disturbing mindset.

Or so I thought.

The reality is that God allowed for the destruction of so many roads, paths, and avenues that I was accustomed to or would normally take to distract myself from dealing with certain things. God put me in a position to only be able to face some things that I’d long needed to face. So over the past few years, God stripped me of money, opportunity, and access. Forcing me to sit down and write. Forcing me to address some issues and initiate some conversations.

I’ll sum it up like this…

If Hazel would have died without me having done what I’d done and been able to “let out” over the past 3 years, her death would have been the fuse that set off the ticking time bomb that so many people thought that I was. No bullsh¡t, I would have flipped out.

Actual event:

Tuesday, January 23, 2024.

So, on Saturday, January 20, I made a phone call. The call was my last ditch effort to see Hazel before she passed away. I asked for permission to come to where she was in hospice, at speak to her. I even offered to be searched, in case there was suspicion that I had mal-intent. I didn’t even need her to talk back. There were some things that I wanted to say to her. Things that I wanted her to hear, from my mouth. I also wanted to let her hear me say that I forgave her.

I was refused. I was told that I couldn’t come and do that.

For the next 2 days I wrestled with thoughts of doing something extremely radical and totally unacceptable. But then I’d made up my mind that I’d done EVERYTHING the “right” way and it had gotten me nowhere.

On Tuesday, I was in the house and I just started frantically moving about. I thought I was losing my mind. No reason or rhythm to my movement, but all of a sudden I just started pacing and going in and out of the house. FOR NO REASON!

I wish I could properly express just how fascinating the moment was. I was going crazy.

Then I stopped. Told my self to calm down. I was standing in my bedroom. With all of my clothes and coat and shoes on, I fell back onto the bed.

I looked up at the ceiling and said, “God, I did everything that I could do. I tried. My Mom is not disappointed in me. She is proud of me. I fought for her. I tried to fight the right way. I lost everything fighting for her. I gave it my all. I know I did. I can’t do anything else. God you gotta fix this.”

I had my hands up towards the sky as I was saying this. Then I let it go. My arms fell back towards the bed.

The moment that my arm touched the cover, my phone vibrated. It was a text:

“The b¡tch is dead.”

The first thing I said, “Damn God. You’re fast.”

Then I opened up the message and asked, “How do you know?”, and the response was that it was confirmed from the family.

So I grabbed my phone and went to “The Funeral Times” aka Facebook. Because Facebook gone tell you bout somebody dying. And sure enough, the family had begun making the announcements.

Anyway.

Since that moment, I’ve been… free.

But freedom is unfamiliar to me.

And I’ve been struggling with it.

You know what?

I’m okay.

I just needed to get that out this morning.

Thanks for listening.

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 28

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Part 28.

I’z free. Eyes free. I can SEE, now.

It almost angers me to recognize and realize the amount and degree of power that Hazel had over me. For 30 years. Not a night that I went to sleep, not a day that I woke up, did I not think about her. About what she did. About where she was. About the possibility that I could run into her.

It’s like she controlled a yoke that was around my neck.

I spent 30 years trying to get closure, some communication, some clarity.
From her.
I did EVERYTHING that I could. I did.

The moment that she was no longer on this earth, my entire everything shifted.
When I say FREEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I’m talking buttnaked-centerstage-coliseum exposed-to-the-world-and-intentionally-proud, FREE.

There are some lessons that I’m going to share about that entire experience. There’s a message in that story. I’m going to utilize both as I walk this new way.

There are a bunch of people who’ve been around me, for these last 30 years, and wondered what the real issue with me was. Wondered why I was stagnant, procrastinating, not living up to my potential or expectations. Wondering how or why it was that I hadn’t seized control of the power that I have, that I’ve always had.

Because I was hurt. I was mad. I was confused. I was lonely. I was depressed. I was jealous. I was broken. And I was waiting for that lady to fix me.

When I say, “I can [SEE]” now, it means that I can “SEE”. I can be the Poet, the Writer, the Artist, the Businessman, the Speaker, the fullness of my creative self. I couldn’t be that for as long as 15-year-old Cornelious was walking around here as hurt and traumatized as I was.

I’m grieving now. I’d never done that before. I’d never grieved the loss of my Mother. Don’t know how long it takes, but I’m encouraged and excited about being able to do it. Because I really do need to let parts of it go. I need to let go.

Last night I was in a room full of individuals grieving the loss of loved ones. Loved ones they lost due to gun violence. There were tears in the room. There was sadness. There was hurt. There was immense pain.
But there was also hope. There was laughter. There was music. There was comfort. There was connection. There was joy. There was genuine concern and care. There was support.

I didn’t want to be in that room. No one wanted to be in that room. But we were there. And in there, was an opportunity. An opportunity for conversation, for consideration, for change, and for community.

An opportunity for love.

Again, I didn’t want to be in that room, but I had to be. And I realized that what I’ve experienced equips me with the compassion and courage and confidence to be in that room, and rooms like it. To be support, to be of assistance, to be of service. Or to be a guest.

Anyway. Life feels different now.

I’m going to be posting more. Performances coming up. Products in the pipeline. But more and most importantly, I’m free.

Thank God, I’m free.

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 27.

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Part 27.
Lessons well EARNED.

Oh, I didn’t stop writing the “parts”. I spent 30 years trying to have a one-on-one with Hazel. I, foolishly, (with good and sincere intent though) expected a different outcome to our story. Never expected that she’d die and I’d never get the opportunity to look her in the eyes and say the things that I’d planned to say.

Especially with her being so close. So accessible. So touchable. But instead of me taking up an offense and forcing myself onto her and putting myself in a position of unknown outcome, I gave her every opportunity to accept my invitations, respond to my requests, oblige my offers to meet up. She didn’t. But stupidly, I wanted and for some reason, expected her to.

The reality of that has been hard to manage these last few weeks. Although I’m “free” of the bogeyman that casted the shadow over my life for all of these years, I’m not all the way unattached to what was my unrelenting desire to face that demon. (And by demon, I mean the enemy of my thoughts and hopes and faith. Hazel committed a devilish act, but I’m of no authority to attribute the title of Satan to her. Look, I make no bones about the fact that I didn’t like her. But, many people did. And for some people she was quite an angel. To those that want to protect that image, stay away from my words. Cause I’m going to tell you what Jesus loves [THE TRUTH], and you might not want that. Keep pretending. This is the reality section over here.)

Let me be honest and clear about something else… We all deserve grace and kindness and mercy. Even whilst being held accountable and responsible and up to the standards of expectation that require justice and consequence and penalty for our actions, transgressions, and sin.
With that being said, I’ve laid off a little bit while the family mourns. Especially her children. They didn’t kill my Mother. And they loved theirs.

I know, how considerate.

Hazel was responsible for the taking of my Mother’s life. She took about 30 years of mine. And none of that was fair. It wasn’t right. It shouldn’t have happened.

But it did. And because of it, well- hopefully you’ve been keeping up with our story- a lot of other stuff happened.

Oh, the point…
I didn’t spend the last 30 years being strong, resilient, patient, consistent, hopeful, understanding, faithful, diligent, nor inconsistent, erratic, stressed, depressed, hurt, frustrated, desperate, broken, troubled, confused, isolated, exiled, or impoverished, to not be able to turn ALL OF THAT into something that benefits someone. There’s a message in my life and I’m going to deliver that message. To someone. It’s for someone. That includes me, and the someone watching/listening and learning from me.

I’m looking forward to doing that.

Good Morning!!!

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 26.

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Part 26.

(This will be the last post, talk, conversation, or anything that I do, being from the victimized, guilted, ashamed, unaccountable, and fearful perspective.

This post was difficult to write. Not difficult because of what I say, (I’ve been saying all of this) but difficult because I’m past having to say any of this from the perspective that I have been. I was speaking from the perspective of my 15-year-old self for way too long. I’m not there anymore. I was there for a very long time though. I’m finally not there anymore.

Writing is and has never been difficult for me. This post was a challenge. Because I’m not crying out anymore. I’m not looking for anyone to save us, me, anymore. I’m not waiting for someone, anyone, to fix, heal, and cure me anymore. I can do it. I will do it. I’ve been doing it. God has BEEN doing it. Whole time. God has given me all that I needed, in order to do it. What I can’t do, God will. And God will use/get/choose who God decides to be part of that with me, for me, on my behalf, and in my best interest. That part was important to say because I now realize that one of the reasons that I was in that former space for so long is because I was wanting and waiting for someone to come and undo what had been done, while I was being so hurt and hung up on what had been done, and “who” did it.
That’s why Hazel was so important. That’s why she was such a BIG part of this for so long. (I’m going to say something controversial here) I’d made her an idol. She had more space and time in my heart, mind, mouth, and world, than anything. That was worship. That was a problem. That was the problem. God couldn’t get hold to Hazel because I wouldn’t let her go. Karma couldn’t get all the way to her because I was in the way. I prayed, spoke, desired, wrote, and thought for a meeting between her and I, for 29 years, 10 months, and 9 days. She avoided, ignored, and denied me for every one of those days. So many others played part in her being able to do that.
I believe in the spirit realm. I believe in energy. I know that I was in the way. Because the energy that I sent out into the universe was that I wanted her to give me what I should have been asking God for. I wanted her to give me answers, closure, clarity, explanation, reason, and peace. She was never going to. And as long as she remained on this earth, I was going to experience the cyclical routine and regimen of mediocre existence that I was. Because I was waiting on her to give me those things.
How do I know? Ever since the moment I got the word of her death, there has been a difference. 180° difference.

Anyway.

I had started working on the “what I’ve learned along this way” post and kept getting stuck. Not writer’s block stuck, instead it was more of a spirit/energy/mind stuck. I realized that I couldn’t write those words with the same eyes, mind, and heart that had experienced that stuff. This has to be about growth now. Not about the challenge, but about the change. Not about hurt, but about help. Not about the mess, but about the message.

The message is not about where I was. The message is about where I am.

You know where I am? I am here. Still here. Alive and able and an amazing example of what survival and resilience and perseverance looks like. After all of it. After everything. Despite, in spite of, amidst, through, with, and while… all of it. I’m here. It’s time for me to acknowledge and claim that! I made it through all of it. Not unscathed or unblemished or unaware. But I’m here. With a reason and a message and a desire and a story and a faith and evidence and an energy to be here. Yes, I have some scars. Some stories. Some lessons. Some experience.

Time to move in that. To walk in that. To win and succeed and progress and benefit, in that.)

—-

November 27, 2023 I posted a 1994 article from the Chicago Tribune. The article was about my Mother’s murder.

The article was attached to a post about what happened that weekend, starting with the last words that my Mother ever said to me.

“Corey, don’t you want to stay home with me this weekend?”

In the post, I wrote that I told her “No.”

But that wasn’t all that I said.

My complete statement was, “No. I always stay with you. I’m going to Rock’s house. I’m going to have fun.”

My Mothers response was, “Oh, you don’t have fun with me?”

I said, “No.”

We laughed.

She said, “Gone have you some fun then. I’ll see you for church Sunday.”

She kissed me on my head as I walked down the front porch steps and made my way to my dad’s awaiting car. My sister and brother were already in. I got in, my dad honked and we all waved at her as we pulled off.

Part 26.
I’ve not grieved. I was guilty.

My Mom loved life. She enjoyed living. She did so many things in life with a bold and unapologetic flair. She was a free spirit and independent and positive and giving, and loving, and caring. She was liked and wanted. She was present and she had principles. She stood up for things, for people. She was a beautiful person. Flaws, imperfections, issues and all.

My Mom was lots of fun.
I had lots of fun with my Mom.

And then she was gone.

On that same post from November 27th, there was this comment from my friend, Charles:

“I remember when this happened. You came back and were as poised with your head held as you had always. No one knows what someone is dealing with on the inside and I know I could not have kept it together then or how you have this long.

I hope you speaking on this out loud brings you to a place where you can heal although I understand life will never be the same.

GOD had given you strength in abundance so I will pray for peace my Friend.

GOD has his hands on you.

BLESSINGS.”

Charles was referring to my return to school after my Mother’s funeral. I’ve always heard about how “strong” I was and how well I “kept it together”. I’ve heard that for almost 30 years. I always hear that people are proud of me and they admire me or that they “wouldn’t have been able to do what I’ve done”.

But what have I done?

Other than spend almost 30 years fighting and chasing and hoping for something that never happened.

Hazel is dead. All of those answers and the closure and relief and peace that I gave her credit for being able to one day give me, are gone now.

Then here comes all of this “new” information, additional perpetrators, more conspiracy

“You can grieve now.”

My brother was 8-years-old when my Mother was killed. It is profound what he remembers and can recall about my Mom and our lives from back then.

It is profound.

A couple days ago, he and I were talking about life, about God, about purpose, about moving forward.
In the midst of the conversation he looks at me and places his hand on my arm, the way you would to console or show compassion to someone, and says this…

“It’s okay for you to grieve now. You never grieved Momma. You’ve been fighting for her for all this time. You haven’t stopped fighting. You’ve carried this all this time. You went right into trying to solve this case. You did all that you could. You can grieve now. I hope that you allow yourself the chance to grieve.”

As I write these words, I’m sitting in my tub. I’m trying to process or articulate to myself what I’m feeling. Because today I feel something. I’ve been feeling whatever this is for a few days now. It’s visceral. It’s obnoxious. I can feel that I’m feeling whatever this feeling is. I just don’t know what it is. It might be sadness, or hurt, or remorse or regret. It could be pain. Maybe anger. Frustration?

Is this grief?

No. This is guilt.

This is guilt and shame.

This is un-forgiveness.

I’m not doing so well right now. Although the optimistic and positive mindset- that most people know and recognize me for- is still in me, I’m not doing so good at the moment.

My Mother asked me to stay with her that weekend because of what was going on between her and Hazel at that time. Whenever they got into really bad fights and arguments, she’d keep me around. I don’t know her exact and specific reason why, but I always felt like I was there to protect her. If I was there, Hazel would walk away or she would leave the house for a couple hours. It had been like that for the last couple of years before my Mom was murdered.
After the last couple of major altercations between them, Hazel almost avoided me. Sometimes I think she avoided me because I had seen and heard so many of their fights. I’d also heard Hazel cry. I used to think that maybe she was embarrassed by that. Whatever, she avoided me. I won’t pretend or suggest that I didn’t enjoy her avoiding me. I didn’t like her. I never liked her. She knew I didn’t like her. My Mom knew I didn’t like her. I was vocal about it. My Mom did not like or appreciate that. Her biggest issue was that she felt that it was a matter of disrespect, my refusal to acknowledge or accept Hazel the way that she wanted me to. She whooped and punished me on many occasions because I refused to comply or communicate with Hazel, the way she wanted me to.
Hazel used to tell on me too. I didn’t care. I really didn’t like her. I didn’t trust her. I knew exactly the evil that she was, and ultimately proved herself to be.

In the last year and a half of my Mother’s life, I think she wrestled with having to acknowledge and accept the intuition and information from me.
Especially in the last 7 months. Because things had gotten really bad between them and her concern for her own safety had begun to outweigh the concern she had for Hazel’s. She’d begun to speak aloud her concerns about Hazel’s actions. Not just to me, but to a few family members and friends. Although she kept the most severe details “in this house”, she let it out on a few occasions that they were going through some extreme difficulties. What hurts me most is that she started voicing her desires and wishes for “if something happened to her” to quite a few people. No one took her seriously. Everyone brushed that off. And I was silent. Because she’d told me to be.

Things were bad. There were signs and evidence of how bad things were. The police knew how bad things were.

I knew a lot of it. Hazel knew I knew a lot of it. I respected my Mother’s ultimatum and kept what was going on inside of our house to myself. Because I believed that things would be different soon enough. Especially after she finally put Hazel out. And when she stood firm on that decision.

This is guilt that I’m feeling. Guilt because I didn’t do something about it. Guilt because I didn’t say something about it. Guilt because I knew too much about it.

While my Mother was here.

Then my Mother was gone and the only other person that knew ALL of the things that I knew was Hazel. The world: our family, friends, and our foundation, had abandoned and deserted us.
I wasn’t strong; I was stranded. I was all by myself. In the immediate aftermath I relied on the police and authorities to get us justice. I thought our family and friends would give us support. I trusted that Rock and the village my Mother had created around us would be in our best interests.

None of that happened. And that nothing happened immediately.

So I began the fight. I became the spokesperson for the family. I became the voice for my Mom. I became the “adult” in the room.

But I was a damn child!

Children process things differently. Especially when not given the adequate and appropriate means by which to process things.

My Mom, my siblings, moving on… should have been my focus. But I couldn’t focus on any of that. The silence, the separation, the situation, all sidetracked me.

Then Hazel became my focus. The problem was that I made her my focus while the lens I saw her through was constructed by and with my Mothers impression.
I began to identify with Hazel. I was so focused on her that I developed compassion and understanding and concern for her. I considered her. Once I recognized that the world was not cooperating, I somehow imagined that Hazel would. I didn’t care about anything else.

I needed to heal.
My family needed to heal.

The only way I saw healing happening was when justice and closure and peace were made real for us.

I believed, after a while, that only Hazel could do that.

Guilt-
(As defined by Webster)

1
: the fact of having committed a breach of conduct especially violating law and involving a penalty

2
a
: the state of one who has committed an offense especially consciously

b
: feelings of deserving blame especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy

3
: a feeling of deserving blame for offenses

(As described via Wikipedia)

Guilt is a moral emotion that occurs when a person believes or realizes—accurately or not—that they have compromised their own standards of conduct or have violated universal moral standards and bear significant responsibility for that violation.[1] Guilt is closely related to the concept of remorse, regret, as well as shame.
Guilt is an important factor in perpetuating obsessive–compulsive disorder symptoms.[2]

—-

I’ve forgiven everyone but myself. I’ve made excuses and found reasons to explain and justify, or rationalize the actions of everyone, but myself. I’ve shown grace and consideration and compassion for everyone, but myself.

When I found out that Hazel was dying, I reached out to a few people in order to facilitate a meeting between her and I. My last ditch effort and attempt to do EVERYTHING that I could. For my Mom. For my family. For me. I even got a private investigator to procure some personal information that might help me get details on her location. I had people looking in hospitals, nursing homes, wherever I thought that she might be. Because none of the people that could have facilitated a meeting between her and I were willing to do so. Ever. Over these past 29+ years.

Understand and listen to this:
Our family and friends knew and know alot of what I’m saying. And NOT ONE TIME in over the last 29+ years, has anyone: Hazel, her children, her siblings, a family member, or a friend, or any other person EVER said anything to ME that even sounded like, inferred, or suggested that I should stop telling the truth. NOT ONCE. NOT ONE PERSON. EVER.

Do you know what that does to a person? Someone SCREAMING their truth, fighting for justice, trying their best to “keep it together”. But instead being avoided, ignored, and alienated. Not confronted though. Not contradicted either. Just made to be a perpetual victim, by the violent actions of inactivity. And the willful blindness and ignorance of a bunch of people that chose- I don’t know what the fvck they chose- to not do right. To not do right by us. To not do right by my Mom.

That is what contributed to the guilt and shame. That guilt and shame became what would eventually be the mitigating factor in me having so much “understanding” for the way everyone else handled this.

The way they mishandled this.

People really mishandled this.

I didn’t understand that for a long time. But now I know that they didn’t want to have to face the truth. Their truth. Especially the truth that they harbored and held onto a monster.

On November 25th I received some personal information and details about where Hazel might be and who she might be with. I was given a phone number and a Facebook profile. I reached out to that person too. They never responded to me. Today I read the message that I sent to them via messenger. Me being considerate, compassionate, and understanding.

That’s all I’d ever been.

I tried to handle this with respect and consideration and grace.

The right way.

Or what I believed to be the right way.

My Mother cared for that woman. Some foolish part of me considered that in all of this.

Another part of me blamed myself for not being, saying, or doing more. And there had always been the guilt.

The other night, a friend, Mark, told me that he was very proud of me and excited for the good and abundance that is coming to me, now that I’m in a better place. He mentioned how some years back he was worried that he’d receive a phone call or word that I might end my life. Because as he saw it, I was in a very bad space and his expectations were that I’d do something that awful, to myself, as a result.

He’s told me that before. That he’d feared the absolute worst. That he’d prayed and hoped for a different outcome for me.

I’ve always had a problem with that. With the fact that he thought I was ever capable of considering suicide. Life is a challenge, has always been a challenge. I’ve always been up for that challenge. I can’t imagine not seeing my whole life, all the way through. Even if there has always seemed to be this ridiculously overwhelming mountain for me to climb along the way.

As we were talking, Mark acknowledged, or offered, an explanation as to his main reasoning for having the sentiment that he had about me. He said that he’d watched me walk away from amazing, life-changing, opportunities and chances. Mark handled some of my business affairs years back. He knows the details of opportunities and contracts that I’ve walked away from. Last night he told me that he thought I was crazy to voluntarily walk away from what most people hope their entire lives for. He said that he felt like my refusal to pursue certain financial aspirations and achievements, especially considering that I was in need of money and could benefit from those chances, “blessings”, seemed like I had some deeper and darker issues.

Mark said that it wasn’t until years later, after observing me for all this time, and getting more information about my life, that he realized that my journey, my search, my issues, had been about something else. He recognized that I’d been dealing with a search for answers and closure and clarity. I’d been looking for something that was much more important than money, for me. It was about principle, about peace, and about a particular desire for healing. I was wanting and working to fix all of that while dealing with what I was dealing with; Being distraught, depressed, and dysfunctional. I was dealing with having gone through the most unimaginable tragedy and things not making sense. I was dealing with an incredible silence and amount of secrecy. I don’t have to re-list all the things this has been. It’s been a lot.

Let me talk about some of the guilt I felt…

Guilt because I told my Mom “NO” when I could have stayed home with her that weekend. That guilt ate me alive. That guilt had me “what if’n” every possible scenario you could ever think possible. That guilt also laid way for me to blame myself and to make myself responsible. Because she asked me to stay with her. I didn’t. And she was killed.

Guilt because I didn’t want to get on the phone when she called Saturday night. She had called to see how my sister enjoyed the Ice-Scapades and to of course let me know that we’d be going to church Sunday. The medical examiner told us that she was more than likely killed right after she got off of the phone. That guilt caused me a great deal of shame and regret.

Guilt because I listened to my grandmother and acquiesced to having my Mom’s funeral at a funeral home, instead of the church where she would have wanted it. My grandmother had strong feelings towards my Mothers religious beliefs. My grandmother was a Jehovahs Witness and she used my love for her to impress upon me and influence within me a choice that I should not have made. That choice was not aligned with my Mom’s wishes. I felt tremendous guilt behind that. That guilt fostered my resentment towards religion and religious extremism.

Guilt because I didn’t force the issue of therapy for all of us. We needed therapy. As a family. And individually. That guilt made me feel like I was wrong and responsible for some of the issues that I’d been able to identify in and about us.

Guilt because I waited for Hazel to be arrested, or to confess, or to be brought to justice. That I didn’t avenge my Mother’s death by issuing revenge and vengeance on my own. That guilt challenged my conception of what “strong” is. I felt weak and cowardly for doing things the “right” way.

Guilt because I placed so much hope and aspiration towards people that proved to be nothing of what I believed or wanted them to be. That guilt was the foundation of my severe trust issues. That guilt magnified misunderstandings and mistakes into much larger problems and concerns. That guilt became the impetus for my running away from people when there was a minor shift/change/unknown in my relationships with others.

Guilt that I didn’t measure up to the person I was supposed to become in the eyes of the God that my Mother had introduced me to. A God that I was never able to feel worthy in the eyes of. The God that I mistakenly equated my Mom to. That guilt contributed to my anger at, and resistance to “God’s people”. It also played a significant part in me feeling shame for not being the “perfect” or the perception of what I believe my Mother would have wanted me to be, as it relates to being a “Man of God”.

Guilt that I allowed my frustration to turn into fear. That fear is what rendered me futile. The fear was cultivated as a result of my being in a world that ignored and refused to acknowledge what happened to us.
I wanted the world to do for me, and for us, what I should have done. I have to do this. But that guilt, that guilt created insecurity and I chose alienation and avoidance as opposed to confidence and awareness.

All of the guilt prevented me from grieving.

Couldn’t go anywhere.

I couldn’t go anywhere because I couldn’t get to the next step. My guilt was strong. I felt guilt about grieving. Like, I didn’t deserve to grieve. Because I felt like the responsibility to fix all of this was on me.

Something else Mark said the other night, “See, you know what you need? A big ole cry. To finally let it all out.”

I haven’t cried since 1998. Been holding a lot in.

No more.

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 25.

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Part 25.

(Today, February 1, 2024, my Mother would have been 70 years old. I want to celebrate. Because I haven’t been able to, for 30 years. I’d love to do something special for her today, in her memory, to honor her. I finally feel like I can. Even with what I’m about to say. This is the first February 1st that I’ve had any sense of peace. I feel good. Again, even with what I’m about to say. Happy Birthday Ma.)

—-

A few days ago I got a call from someone offering their words of encouragement and to let me know the inspiration that I’ve been this entire time. So many people have called or sent messages since Hazel’s death. The consensus is hope that this now allows for my family and I to move past, at least this part. Hazel has been a constant thorn in our collective sides for a very long time. She is, was, the proverbial elephant in the room. And somehow she was also the room. She had been the most spoken-about-not-spoken-about-spoken-about topic of our, and a great deal of other people’s, lives. She was definitely my bogeyman. She’d become the embodiment of all things that I can equate to wrong about the world. She was my biggest issue with the world.

With all the silence that there has been in our lives, who Hazel was to us has been extremely loud. And the phone call turned loud. Because I got a bit frustrated. During the conversation I ventured off into a rant about how crazy this entire experience has been for us, my siblings and I, specifically. At one point I started listing off some people that it really disappointed me to have to endure their absence. Because of the connection they had to my Mom, speaking of her friends. They were in and part of our lives. These people meant a lot to my Mom! They were friends by definition and title, but they were family to us. Because that is how she introduced and how she implemented them into our routines, regimens, and responsibilities, as family.

At my mention of one name in particular, the person gasped. I caught it immediately, that there was something my reference of that name triggered. So I asked what that was about.

I was told that they didn’t want to upset or anger me by discussing this particular friend. I’d discussed an interest in speaking with the people from our past, many times before. When I said that very thing, on this phone call, It was suggested that maybe I shouldn’t reach out to this individual. So as not to upset or anger myself. I was so confused.

So confused.

My Mother had a support system.
(She thought she had a support system.) She’d created and communicated the belief and thought, in us, her children, that the support system that she surrounded us with, had her back. We were to respect and regard and remember them. Those people were instrumental in our lives. They were important to our lives. They were not invisible.

While she was here.

In another recent conversation, I was talking to someone from our past and I made this comment:

“… Because everyone disappeared, we didn’t notice anyone in particular not being there. EVERYONE left. All of the friends, family, and community, never showed up, after my Mom was gone.”

I said that in response to someone else bringing up the revelation that one of my Mother’s friends, one of her good friends, had been nefariously involved in this. Like I have said, I knew that we were going to get some more information due to Hazel’s death. Just how much people were scared and afraid of her, intimidated by her, and terrified, is crazy. Why or how it was common knowledge- among certain individuals- that this other friend had a connection to the events of March 26, 1994 and supposedly a relationship with Hazel that was outside of what we thought, is probably going to be a mystery to me. The friend this person mentioned was the same friend the other person mentioned. And these 2 people don’t know one another.

So, then I called someone else, to ask about that friend. Someone I know that knew all the parties involved. I was told the exact same thing. This person said to me that their belief is that this friend I was asking about had been involved, and at the very least, aware of what happened that night.

Here’s the wild part about that… I only asked about the friend. My exact words were, “Hey, when was the last time you saw or heard from _?”

The response I got, “Ooooh, not since they did that to Michelle. I’m not sure of how she got involved with Hazel, but somehow she found herself messing with Hazel. Something went down.”

To that I said, “Why am I just hearing any of this now? Why didn’t anyone say this to us? To the police?”

The response, “People were afraid. They were hurt. (Long pause) That gay stuff played a big part. (Longer pause) Corn, there’s no good reason for why it happened like that. It was so much talk about what went down. Gossip and mess. Hazel was mad at Michelle and she was gone hurt her. Too many of us knew that, to have been quiet. Ain’t no excuse. Y’all were babies. No one knew what to do.”

This might seem like a sad story. Well, it is a sad story. I’m not sad though. I haven’t been sad for awhile.

Whatever I had been all of this time, doesn’t matter. I know what it’s time to be. I know who it’s time to be.

It is time to move past the part of this that triggered me into being idle. It is time to give myself permission to move past that part. It is time to forgive myself for not knowing what to do and that being the reason that I did a lot of the “wrong” things. It is time to accept that I made human decisions as a result of human trauma that was the byproduct of a human tragedy. It is time to acknowledge that I did everything I could to bring Hazel to justice.

I fought for my Mom. I know that she is proud of me. For so long I felt like she was disappointed. Disappointed that I’d not been able to acquire justice. Disappointed that I was unable to be the son and big brother that she wanted me to be. Disappointed that I’d suffered silently and allowed all of this to hold me back from doing all of the things that she said that I would. It is time for me to let go of the guilt and shame that I’ve felt, because of that disappointment.
Then there was my disappointment.
I was disappointed in Hazel. I was disappointed in our friends and family. I was disappointed in my Mother’s friends and family. I’m really disappointed in my Mother’s friends and family. I was disappointed in the church. Eventually all of that disappointment morphed into self deprecation. The silence and the trauma and the controversy of it all began a routine of entertaining thoughts that this was all some grand conspiracy. I was disappointed in myself for being a victim of that conspiracy.

Dammit. This post was supposed to be about the things that I’ve learned.
Next one, I promise. Got to let this out as it comes.

And it’s coming. It’s all coming. Some things are coming back too.

Anyway.

I have to get to living.

I do that by continuing to speak up, speak out, and to speak about all of this. Not for the reasons that I had been when I was trying to get Hazel to come forward, but for the purposes of being an example and being the free that comes with moving forward.

Happy Heavenly Birthday Mom.

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 24.

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Part 24

I’m not going to substitute one bogeyman for another. Hazel is dead. I know who she was and I know what she did. Not what I felt or what I assume or what I think. I know what I experienced, witnessed, saw, and was exposed to.

Part “Not 24/7”.
Not all day. Not everyday. Not anymore.

There’s a bible scripture, Job 3:25, that reads:

25 For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.
26 I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came.

There were so many things that happened when we lived on Leavitt, between my Mother and Hazel. They had a very toxic and tumultuous relationship. I think- and I could be wrong about this- that a great deal of Hazel’s frustration was caused by the secret and the having to be secret of it. My Mother cared for her, and she cared about her. I saw that. I knew that. But my Mother was not comfortable or complete in the reality of her sexuality. It was less about any “closet” per se, I don’t think my Mom saw herself as a lesbian. I don’t think she ever considered spending her life as a lesbian. Their relationship was a secret. Especially to the people most important to my Mom. She presented and postured them as family. That was easy to do, due to the fact that she had children by Hazel’s uncle. She presented them/us as family to those of us in the house too. I won’t speak for anyone else, but I can say that I was none the wiser. Them being a couple never crossed my mind when I was a child. That would not have made sense to me then. Trying to make sense of it for the last 25+ years has been tough. Because I didn’t find out they were in a relationship until a couple of years after my Mom was killed.

When I look back, especially with the eyes and senses/experiences/exposures of my 30 and 40+ year old self, I can recognize, so clearly, the blaring and obviousness of their relationship.

Especially the fighting/dysfunction/drama.

That stuff was plainly a domestic relationship. I just didn’t see it then. I didn’t know to see it then. If I would have been aware of that part, maybe I would have disobeyed my Mom’s “keep everything that happens in this house in this house” order. Because I would have definitely objected to them being together like that. Aside from whatever issue I might have had with the being gay of it, I wanted my Mom to be with my dad, Rock. I’d always wanted that. Hazel being my cousin was a sell for me. I didn’t gel with her, but you can’t always pick family. Hazel being my other mom or stepmom though, uh no.

I gave no thought to anything like that anyway. I was naive. No gay-dar. No sixth sense for any of that.

I wasn’t afraid or fearful of them being together because I didn’t know they were together. But what I was fearful and afraid of is something bad happening as a result of the fights they had. I was afraid of Hazel using the gun that she pulled out on us in August of 1993, when my Mom put them out. Hazel had done all kinds of things. She’d vandalized vehicles at our house one night while there was a party there; She bent the windshield wipers and spray painted the headlights and taillights blue, on cars of my Mother’s guests. She’d threatened to kill my Mom. She had a couple friends attempt to intimidate my Mom.
There was a temporary restraining order granted after the August incident. Hazel stayed away for a little while. One of the reasons my Mom filed the TRO was because Hazel had been riding down our block on multiple occasions in an effort to scare my Mother. My Mother wasn’t scared of Hazel. At least she didn’t act like she was. She always wrote the things that Hazel did, off, as stuff to get attention. In the summer of 1993, Hazel had attempted suicide by taking some pills and drinking a large amount of gin. I don’t think she was really trying to kill herself. I think she did it for attention. My Mom was out and Hazel was at home, in their room, with the door closed. I didn’t know if she was in the room sleep or if at all. By the time my Mom arrived back home from an event, I was sleeping. I was awaken by my Mother forcing me up to answer a bunch of questions. She was panicking and frantic and screaming at me…

“How long has Nae been in there? What time was the last time she came out of the room?”

I didn’t know. I was trying to explain to her that I didn’t know. But she was going off and I was in trouble. I didn’t know what I had done. But she was mad and I could tell, hurt.

I’d been sleeping so I was unaware of the calls to 911 and the emergency services on the way. She forced me out of the bed and to answer the front door while she tended to Hazel. The paramedics and police arrived a few minutes after. While they were assessing Hazel, my Mom explained to me that when she walked in the room Hazel was sprawled on the floor, a bottle of pills and the liquor bottle next to her.

So many things went on in that house. Things that my Mother went to great lengths to conceal from the world. In the last year it had gotten really bad. Many people can tell you of the things that my Mom did say, alluding to issues. One afternoon, a few weeks before she was murdered, she stopped everyone from working at the church. We were in the fellowship hall preparing for an event when she interrupted a moment of silence by saying…

“Hey y’all, if anything happens to me, make sure that Corey takes care of his sister and brother. Make sure that he stays in school. Make sure they stay together.”

There are a few people that can attest to and verify that moment. It was- at that time- such a random and awkward thing. The ladies in the room quickly told her to stop talking like that.

I recall one person saying, “Michelle ain’t nothing going to happen to you. Your children will be okay, because you’re going to be here to make sure they’re okay”.

My Mother responded, “If something happens to me, please make sure that my babies are okay”.

Not too long before she was killed, my Mom had discussed with 2 different people, that she wanted to remove Hazel as a beneficiary from her life insurance policy. She had grown concern about Hazel’s escalating behavior. Her behavior and the last few incidents. My Mother spoke to one of her best friends, Drenna, not too long before she was killed. She voiced some of her concerns.

Her concerns had grown into her fears. Her fears were obvious. They became my fears.

“For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me.”

The thing that I most feared happening, did. I knew it would. Hazel said she would. She did.

I knew she would.

What I didn’t know, all this time, were some of the missing details and pieces; the accessories and accomplices that assisted her, the people that participated, and the people that protected her. People that I would have never imagined could do the things that I’m hearing/learning they did. Until now.
Because, as I knew they would, everyone’s talking now.

If I allowed the stuff I’m hearing now to have a seat anywhere near my focus and attention, this would never end. I’d never be free. I’d always be chasing something, someone, or a somewhere… to get to the bottom of it all.
I won’t do that.

Those people are not going to become any focus of mine. I have a feeling that life is about to have its way with them. I’ll still be writing.

This, nor they, though, will have residence inside of my head like it had. I got the peace necessary for me to relocate. I was stuck, 15-years-old, on Leavitt Street, unable to move forward, for all of this time. God has granted me the peace, clarity, and freedom I needed to go.

Hazel had real estate in my mind and my subconscious because of our connection. Not just that she was responsible for my Mother’s death, but that she is blood family to my blood family. She is blood family to an entire group of people that I once considered family.
She also held information that I wanted, about my Mom. Details that I wanted to know, insight. About the relationship that she had with my Mom. A relationship that my Mother kept secret from me, and so many others. My Mother raised us all like we were a family. One big family. She had a double life though. And as much as I believe that any and everyone is entitled to live their lives the way they choose to live their lives, the fact of the matter is that those decisions have consequences. My siblings and I paid dearly for the consequences of my Mother’s double life.
I wanted Hazel to talk to me about that life. That was one of the biggest reasons that I didn’t “do” what many people expected, assumed, or wanted me to do to her, in response to what she did. I wanted her to talk to me. I wanted her to do me that justice. She could not ever give me my Mother back, but she could have clarified and communicated things that might better assist me in comprehending some stuff I wanted/needed cleared up. In a sense, I protected Hazel. Although I’ve always been outspoken and transparent and diligent with our story, I also showed an incredible amount of grace/empathy/compassion as well. There was a level of understanding and patience because I took into consideration the facts that I knew and the nature of connection we had. So much hurt had been caused way back then. I tried to prevent more of the same. That was a task. But it was a psychological mindfvck, trying to understand how and why all of this happened. That was traumatic. The uglier trauma was the silence and seclusion that came with all of this.

Again, I wanted Hazel to fix “this”. I fantasized the possibility that a conversation with her could power-up and generate the energy that was needed to fix this.

Mind you, EVERYONE disappeared after my Mother’s death. That caused an entirely different thing to happen. A paranoia. A severe and extreme distrust. A ridiculous fear. I wanted Hazel to fix that. Because she had broken it. Her actions had caused it. Not just the actions the world knew about, my Mom’s murder, but the actions and behavior that we’d dealt with for 8 years, up until she’d done that. The actions and behavior that not all of the world had any clue of. Because my Mother mandated that “what happened in that house stayed in that house”.
Some people were curious or convinced that there was a problem back then. But they limited their concern to their own mind and instead of doing more, they did nothing. I’ve talked to so many people over the years that have expressed regret and remorse for their lack of initiating conversation with my Mom about some of the signs/feelings they wanted to talk about.

Hazel had a particular space with me because my Mother loved her. My Mother took care of Hazel. She cared and provided for Hazel, and Hazel’s children, for a long time. I watched my Mother care for and protect and defend and love and advocate for Hazel. Even when a lot of the mess was going on. Actually, especially when the mess was going on.

I’m rambling today.

This is grief. Grief is finally setting in. I’ve never grieved my Mom. I went from her son, straight to the only investigator/detective/journalist that was fighting for her.

I fought for my Mother for almost 30 years. Every second of every day of every year, for almost 30 years.
Because I spent all of that time “fighting”, I didn’t get a chance to “feel”.

It’s time for me to feel.

My next post will be about the lessons I’ve learned.

©️2024 Cornelious “See” Flowers

Time to move on. Part 23.

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Part 23.

I wrote this letter (the attachment at the bottom) to Hazel Ezell in 2013. It was posted on Facebook. I published it online via my website and some other platforms. This was written after I’d found out that Hazel and I had been in the same room/house location on different occasions. I didn’t know that, but Hazel did. Hazel would hide or “disappear” to avoid me seeing her. That is what the family that lived in the place told me when all this came to light.

This letter was given to Hazel. The fact that it was given to Hazel allowed me to begin a real healing process/journey. I wanted this letter to be that process, but I had more work to do, more things to face.

I wrote Hazel many other letters. I sent Hazel messages and I passed information to individuals to get to Hazel. I wanted to see her, meet with her. I had an employee at the Carl Budding factory she worked at try to facilitate a meeting. She was a regular at Smitty’s. I had someone go up there once to talk to her. Because Hazel avoided me. The family, her family, protected her. Even knowing what she’d done. So no one there ever helped or tried to help me have that meeting.

I didn’t want to have everyone involved either. Because I don’t like mess. I don’t like gossip. I don’t like drama. This story was that for a lot of people. It was a sensational story, but it was a messy story. And by the time I’d written this letter, I’d already dealt with so much mess from this. And all that mess had done was mess me up. Psychologically, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. This affected my health. I had a heart attack 6 months prior to writing this letter. A heart attack brought on by significant stress.

The stress of knowing what I knew. The stress of knowing that Hazel knew what I knew. The stress of having the police, and many people, know all of this as well. But nothing being done about it.

Nothing.

Hazel is dead now.

©️2023 Cornelious “See” Flowers

https://seethepoet.com/2013/09/17/you-murdered-my-mother/

Time to move on. Part 22.

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Part 22.

I applaud anyone that is able to focus, manage, maintain, progress, produce, push, and persevere through unspeakable tragedy. People that are able to set aside or “move on” past trauma that is significant and present in their lives, amaze me. Individuals that have the strength, wherewithal, fortitude, audacity, courage, and energy to “get over” something that has the power and influence to subdue them, have my admiration and respect.

Because I was able to do none of that.

Part 22.
Pew Pew Pew

Yesterday I received some calls and a couple messages about my Mother’s murder. I expected that. That people were going to feel comfortable saying what they’ve known and kept secret. I knew the moment Hazel was dead I’d start hearing things.

The first thing I heard was a suggestion as to who the other person was. We’ve long known that someone assisted her back then. Someone was involved and their participation was key in allowing Hazel to “get away” for all of this time. It bugged me that I didn’t know who it was. They just weren’t as important as Hazel. I couldn’t consume myself with trying to figure out who they were, I was too busy trying to bring Hazel to justice. But I’d known, and the police had always let us know that someone else was key to all of it. This had all seemed like some grand conspiracy, with the un-identity of that person adding layers and depth to the controversy of everything.

The complexity of the whole ordeal, the proximity and intricacy’s of our relation to one another, the silence and the secrecy of everything, all poured accelerant into this fire of frustration. It’s been a mess. It messed me up. Not one moment since March 28, 1994 had I not been obsessed with trying to figure it all out, solve it, get closure, and acquire justice. While bearing witness to the silence, the cooperation against my outspokenness, and the overall resistance we received from our “family” and the community, to acknowledge, account, and accept, the truth.

Mind you, I did all of this knowing what I knew. Knowing what I had experienced and been a witness to. While also being told by police and authorities and almost everyone else that knew anything about any of this, that this was an open and shut case.

It opened my eyes and heart to how ugly and cruel this world can be. It shut my eyes to hope and to happiness and to peace, for almost 30 years.

Now, here we are.

Yesterday- after that previous night of amazing and long sought after sleep and rest- was a day unlike any that I have ever had. Even with getting the calls that I’ve gotten with all the “I didn’t want to say anything before’s” and the messages. Even with seeing condolences and collages scroll on my timeline of Hazel. Yesterday, I had nothing on my mind. All day. “It” is gone. What is “it”? The persistent and what I thought would be perpetual, anxiety. My constant angst and worry about Hazel. My never ending struggle to try and take my mind off of her. The persistent questions and concern that I suffered myself through, trying to rationalize all of this. I’d done that for every minute of every day, since the morning I found my Mom’s body.

You might be new here. To my page, or to the truth of what happened. But, in addition to what I’ve been able to get clarity and closure on as it relates to Hazel, over the past couple of years I’ve also been able to get clarity/closure/answers from the congregation of people that had abandoned and left our lives when all of this happened. Hazel hadn’t just taken my Mother from us. Her actions somehow resulted in a domino effect of everything being taken away. Family, friends, the foundation of our lives, everything disappeared. Everyone disappeared.

My siblings were babies when this happened, 11 and 8. I was a baby, really, at 15. But my Mother had been prepping and preparing me to handle the unfathomable. We didn’t know that though. No one wanted to know anything like that. Yet, that’s exactly what she’d done. She’d forced a maturity and responsibility from me that was able to process the events and effect of her absence differently than EVERYONE else. She informed and included me in certain details about what was going on between her and Hazel. She didn’t tell me everything, but she told me enough to allow me insight into their issues. I used to think that she was punishing me by forcing me to stay home with just her and Hazel some weekends, while my siblings went over my dad’s house. It wasn’t a punishment. After awhile, and in hindsight, I realize that when my Mother kept me around, they couldn’t fight as much. I believe because they had been concealing their relationship from us, when they fought they had to restrain certain language from being said. There was a deafening silence when those days occurred. But I believe it, my being there, was a protection. It would only go so far if I was around.

That’s why the last words that my Mother ever said to me had rung so loudly in my head for all those years:

“Corey, don’t you want to stay home with me this weekend?”

A few weeks ago I was told by my dad, the details of the last conversation he and my Mother had before she was murdered. Wednesday, March 23, 1994. I remember him coming over to the house. I remember him coming into my room and talking to me. I remember my Mother grabbing him by the hand and taking him into her bedroom and them having a conversation. I had never known exactly what they talked about. He’d never been strong, or vulnerable, enough, to allow himself to talk about any of this. Instead he’d shutdown. His nickname is “Rock”, and he’s lived up to that name in more ways than one. Especially in the way he’d just been in that one place, hardened, and without sound, for all of these years.

My Mother told him in their last conversation that she was ready to be with him, forever. She had accepted and acknowledged her feelings, and his, as well as what we all wanted. They had been together off and on, for more than 20 years at that point. They wanted to be together. We wanted them together. All of that aligned with what her long term goals and desires were. They made plans to start the process of our future together.

I believe that’s what the dinner that Hazel and my Mother had was about. Saturday, March 26, 1994, 3 days after that conversation with my dad, my Mom and Hazel went out to eat. I believe that dinner was for the purpose of my Mother telling Hazel that their breakup was permanent, and that she was getting back with Rock.

I can only imagine the hurt and frustration that caused Hazel. She loved my Mom. My Mom loved her. As a child I thought it was a different kind of love, but I’m mature, honest, and transparent enough to understand that they were in a relationship for all of those years. My Mother decided not to continue with that lifestyle. Hazel didn’t feel the same way.

My Mother was murdered minutes after eating. She had broccoli florets in her system, according to her autopsy. Broccoli dissolves rather quickly in your stomach acids. Because the broccoli was in her system, in its full state, the medical examiner gave a timeline of when the death occurred. There was a ride from the restaurant back to the house. She had to have been killed within minutes of entering the house. Hazel told police that she dropped my Mom off and left her. To prove her point she said that she called my Mother from a pay phone across town. That puzzled everyone. It didn’t make sense: Why would you be with her and then make a call from a pay phone, across town, back to her. Hazel said that she called her to tell her that she had enjoyed the evening, the dinner, and to thank her for going out with her.

Because the police did pull the records from the pay phone and there was a call made to the house, that part of the story was able to allow Hazel and her attorney to argue that as an alibi until police could prove otherwise.

No one bought the story though. What the police and the investigators suggested to us was that Hazel had someone make that call and that she was the one that answered the phone inside of our home. Because based on the contents of my Mothers stomach, and factoring in the ride from the restaurant, my Mother could not have been alive at the time of the phone call.

The state’s attorney sat me down as a 15-year-old and told me all of that. His exact words:

“Hazel Ezell murdered your Mother. We know that she did it. We have strong evidence, albeit circumstantial, that proves our facts of the case. The problem is that all of our evidence is circumstantial and I cannot risk putting this case in front of a jury and not getting a guilty verdict, allowing a murderer to go free. We are going to get a confession, the murder weapon, or we will find the person that helped her. Then we are going to put her away.”

Imagine hearing that. Knowing what I know. And having to live everyday with nothing happening.

Meanwhile, over the years, some of Hazel’s close family and friends have reached out or run into me and said things like, “… when are they going to get her for what she did to your Mom?”.

In 2016, one of her close family members stopped me outside of a family event that I attended and asked for an update of our case. I told him, “… There is no statue of limitations on murder. The case is still open. We’re still waiting for the person that killed my Mom to be caught.”

This was his response:

“Yea, Hazel. Hazel murdered Michelle. She should not have done that.”

I turned and walked away.

I had someone with me. She heard him say it. She looked at me and I just shook my head. She said that if she would not have been with me she wouldn’t have believed that happened. I told her to imagine that always happening, yet nothing happening.

I heard that some people in the family have been suggesting a different version of our story. That’s funny.

It really is.

It’s hilarious that anyone could tell the jokes that they tell about any of this. But that’s what makes it funny, the joke of it. They ain’t EVER said what they say about me or about any of this, to me. Hazel didn’t say whatever she told any of them, to me. And I gave her 30 years of time to do that. But I’ve said what I say and have always said, to EVERYONE. Publicly and privately. Without fail. I’ve ALWAYS stood on this. While they’ve come up with some wild versions of these events. Amongst themselves. While at the same time, some of those same “family” and friends HAVE “sided” with the truth, with what we know to be true, and with us.

But, I get it, I guess. They had to stand by their family.

Whatever.

“Pew Pew Pew”

I read an article about the song “Pew Pew Pew” by Auntie Hammy, recently. The author that wrote it, Joseph L. Hollen, has a very interesting take on the meaning of the song. Here’s an excerpt:

“…One of the central themes explored in “Pew Pew Pew” is the idea of embracing and unleashing one’s inner strength. The lyrics encourage listeners to tap into their own power and overcome obstacles that may come their way. Auntie Hammy’s infectious energy and vibrant delivery further emphasize this message, inspiring individuals to step into their own power and face challenges head-on.”

(From “The Meaning Behind The Song: Pew Pew Pew by Auntie Hammy” by Joseph L. Hollen)

It was the part, “… to step into their own power and face challenges head-on.” that resonated with me.

It is time for me to do exactly that.

“Pew Pew Pew”

Time to move on. Part 21.

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Part 21.

Last night I went to bed, for the first time in almost 30 years, knowing that Hazel Ezell was no longer on this earth. I went to bed knowing that when I woke up this morning I was not going to wake up still full of the want and desire for her to be charged, arrested, and convicted for murdering my Mother. I went to bed not sick from obsessing over wanting “justice”.
I went to bed knowing that the bogeyman was no longer possibly lurking around every corner that I turn. I went to bed knowing that there was absolutely no chance of me running into her the next day.

Last night I went to bed knowing that no matter the fact that she seemed to have escaped justice and been able to evade prosecution, she was no longer going to be a living reminder of how messed up this world can be.

My wife woke me up 3 times last night. From a deep and peaceful sleep. A hard sleep. A sleep that I don’t recall me ever being able to have. She woke me up because she says I was snoring louder than I have ever snored before!
Every time she woke me up, I went right back to that peaceful sleep. Her waking me up didn’t interrupt my sleep not one bit. I was able to instantly turn over and continue calling every hog on the farm, lol!

I haven’t slept like that since I was a child. I haven’t had any rest since I was a child. I haven’t been able to rest, since I was a child.

Part 21.
Un-arRESTed Development.

Hazel had people that supported her. She had friends and family that loved and cared for her. She had people that have great stories and memories with her. Hell, I have a couple of funny stories with her. I have a deep and intricate history with her. I have memories, and pictures, of times with her.

She was family. I can’t get away from that.

Hazel has people that thought the world of her. A lot of those people didn’t and don’t know the evil that she’d done. They don’t know our history and experience with her. They didn’t know all of the drama, chaos, and trouble she caused. Sh¡t my Mother covered up when we were kids, and forbade me to tell. Stuff that people should have known, and had they known, it would have or at least could have changed the trajectory and outcome of all of this.

There are people, many people that I know and love, care for, and consider friends and family, that are grieving her death. There are pictures on my timeline of Hazel. Pictures with words of care and concern and consideration and compassion.

Some of those words coming from people that I consider family. That my Mother considered family. That are blood related to my blood family.

Then, there are a great deal of people that do know exactly what she had done. They chose to support her still. They chose to be her family and friend regardless. Some of them have tried to be both family to her and to my siblings and I. A lot of them have not. They’ve been unable to maintain whatever level of diplomacy or dysfunction, necessary to be in the middle.

For almost 30 years, I considered all of that. I had to. I had to be the “adult” in this room. I’ve been the one responsible for trying to keep peace while seeking justice, fighting for my Mom, and not losing my sh¡t. I was the one that knew details that only my Mother, Hazel, and I knew. My Mother no longer here to tell, and Hazel not telling. I was the only one that was present for their fights and had been in that house when things went bad. I was the one that knew the details and parts of this story, other than Hazel, that the world didn’t know.

After my Mom’s murder I was the only one that talked to the police. I was who the police, the medical examiner, the States Attorney, and anyone else talked to. Because the world went silent after my Mom was killed. Everyone shutdown, ran away, left. Even my dad. Even my Mom’s siblings. EVERYONE.

And I was just a kid.

A kid that chose to not be silent. I’ve continued to tell our story. The same story. For 30 years.

The luxury that Hazel benefited from was that I was a child back then and without the support that we needed, she was able to shift the narrative and blame. She was able to lie and mislead and distract. She did that. And a damn good job of it. She also benefited from my bleeding heart. My understanding and compassion for her children. My consideration of our family. I didn’t want anyone- outside of Hazel- to pay for what she had done. At the same time, I’d always understood what she’d done and I felt I had a pretty good idea of why she did it.

So I reached out to and for Hazel. For years. I privately and discreetly sent her messages and invitations to come and talk to me. (Check some of my previous posts. I’ve taken pictures and screenshots of my dms and messages to her.) I’d asked for mutual parties that knew us to facilitate a meeting. In 2013 I wrote an open letter and gave some details that only she and I knew, to let her know that I had information and I’d been informed of things that would be detrimental to a case against her if it had ever been presented to a jury or a judge. Hazel averted that and avoided me. She did the latter at all costs. There are people that will attest and affirm to just how strategic and desperate her attempts to avoid me were.

—-
Let me pause for a second and say something to ANYONE that has something they want to say to me about what I’m saying (Specifically the people that picked her “side”): I made that easy for y’all to do. I got out of the way. Because this wasn’t ever about me versus any of you. This was about me & Hazel. It was about what Hazel did to my Mother. It was about truth and fact and what our experience was. Not about your feelings. Not about your delusions. Not about your opinions. I made it easier for y’all to choose her because anyone that it required a choice for, I have no use for. I didn’t need to convince any of y’all. I don’t try to. Also, I forgave her. Because I was able to do that, KNOWING what she did, I can accept and understand any of y’all being able to. But not one of you has a leg to stand on if your position is outside of the truth. And again, as I’ve ALWAYS stated, and had proof of, your feelings can’t face my facts.
—-

Last night I slept.
I woke up this morning, different.

There had to be an end to this. In order for me to be and do what God has purposed for me to be and do. In order for me to do what I have planned and the potential to be and do. In order for me to be able to use my power to do what I know I can be and do. I’ve done all that I could, operating from this space. The 15-year-old me that had been trying to do this, this entire time, had done enough. I’ve done well. Did all that I could. That part of me could do no more. So, it had to end. There had to be an end. I needed clarity. I needed closure. I needed to be free. Free of the shadow. Free of the silence. Free of the uncertainty.

I didn’t realize that until I woke up from that wonderful sleep. Rested.

Time to move on. Part 20.

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Part 20.

I’m not sure what I expected to feel the moment that there was no longer the shadow that has been over me for all of this time.

Happiness? Peace? Relief? Joy? Sadness? Hurt? Grief? Anxiety?

I don’t know that I had an emotion in mind. Not sure if I ever had that type of expectation.

Let me tell you what I didn’t expect:

I didn’t expect anyone that had not one ounce of courage, guts, balls, or any other type of energy, all of this time to say something TO ME about any of this, to fix their mouth and say something ignorant that was loud enough for me to hear in this moment.

Oh wait. They didn’t. But they’ve whispered amongst themselves. And there are snakes that burrow amongst snakes. Of course some of the snakes would slither their way to me. And they’ve been a hissing.

Let me get the pleasantries out of the way:

Hazel Ezell is dead. January 23, 2024. The woman that murdered my Mother has died.

Part 20/20
I can SEE now.

Not once, since March 28, 1994, the morning I discovered my Mother’s body, has anyone said something to me like, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

Not once.

Conversely, I’ve been told that everything I know and have told was the truth and corroborated evidence, suggestion, and lined up with the investigation.

Understand this: Hazel Ezell was not charged with my Mother’s murder because she benefited from assistance from her family, because the case was filled with circumstantial evidence, and because in 1994, a homosexual love-affair-domestic-situation-resulting-in-a-murder was not high priority for the police department.

Start with those facts.

Why didn’t Hazel get dealt with by the hands of “street justice”? Ask around. Because I wanted it handled the “right way”. I wanted her to be arrested and charged. I believed in the “justice system”. At that time I had the States Attorney and Chief Joe Falica assuring me that we would get the justice that we were seeking. So I shutdown every attempt and request to move any other way. Because I did not want the ramifications of revenge/vengeance to cause further harm to my siblings, and I had, and still have, a heart for Hazel’s children. I’m saying that today and I said it 30 years ago.

Because understand this: They might see it another way, but this family was the first and for the most part, only family that I knew and spent time with.

This situation was/is messy, toxic, unfortunate, full of drama, hurtful, painful and it caused a world of dysfunction and destruction.

Let me breathe.

Quick story…

Saturday, I reached out to Hazel’s brother. She was in hospice at his home. I was given that information about a week ago. Before reaching out to him, over the last 30 years, I’ve reached out to Hazel directly. I’ve sent messages, emails, and I’ve tried to arrange a meeting. I offered her the opportunity to meet with me privately or publicly. I’ve made these requests, both privately and publicly. I just wanted to talk to her. As I’ve said many times before, and written, Hazel was a very important part of my Mothers life and there were some questions and details that only she could answer for me. I was never in doubt as to whether she murdered my Mother. Go back and read anything that I’ve written about the case. I know she did it. She knew that I knew she did it. That is why Hazel NEVER, not once, said a word to me in the last 30 years. The last time that her and I spoke to one another was in February of 1994. She came around for my Mother’s birthday. She spent the night. I woke up the next morning and she was in the house. She’d slept on the couch. After she left out I looked at my Mom with a confused and frustrated face. My Mother assured me that Hazel was not coming back. She said that Hazel had stayed the night because she had a little too much to drink and didn’t need to be behind the wheel.
That day was the last time that Hazel and I shared any words. We spoke in passing.
I can tell you exactly how many times that I saw Hazel in the last 30 years:
1st time was at the police station after they took her into custody and questioned her the day after my Mother was found, March 29, 1994. 2nd time was in 1997, she was next door to a house that I was visiting on the night of prom. 3rd time was in 2000 at a family gathering that I left after seeing her there. 4th time was in 2022 at a memorial service that I attended because I knew she would be there. I planned to confront her and try to force her to talk to me afterwards. My wife called and asked me to leave. I left because the memorial service was not the venue for what I was doing, or wanted to do. But I sat in that room and stared at her for the entire time I was there.
Hazel was my bogeyman. It was time that I transferred the energy that I’d been carrying, back to the person that it belonged to.

But 4 times, that’s how many times I had seen her.

However, that’s not how many times that she had seen me. In 2013 it was brought to my attention that a friend that I am very close with and his family had ties to Hazel. Hazel and I had attended multiple gatherings together and been in the same place on numerous occasions. Here’s the thing though, I never knew she was there. The family would always announce that I was coming by and, from their words, Hazel would go off into the basement or upstairs whenever I came around. One time I had to meet the family at the hospital for an emergency. Hazel had been there around the clock until she heard that I was coming by. She abruptly told them that she had an emergency and had to leave. The family had no idea that Hazel and I had history or connection, so it was not made obvious that she’d avoided me all of those times. We found this all out by sheer happenstance. Blew my mind. I found out that Hazel and I had been in the same place on so many occasions, and she hid every time I came around.
That is what prompted the open letter I wrote to her on September 17, 2013. (You Murdered My Mother)

All that to say I’ve been trying to speak with her for all of this time. On Saturday, when I called her brother, I asked if it was possible for me to come by and speak with her. I didn’t know what her status or current state was. He told me that she wasn’t talking and I couldn’t talk (have a conversation) with her. I asked him for the opportunity to come and speak. She could just listen. I told him that he and anyone else could be in the room. I just wanted the opportunity to say the things that I wanted to say to her, to her. He denied that request as well.
After I hung up the phone I felt a wave of emotion flush out of me. I didn’t know what I was feeling but I felt it. For 2 days I sat on trying to pronounce those feelings. Because, as I’ve said to a few people, it was a weird feeling that came over me.
Tuesday morning, 1/23/24. I woke up and sent a text to a medium that I met almost 20 years ago. I don’t even know if she calls herself a medium, but I believe that’s the gift that she has. Anyway, I sent her a text. Because I didn’t want a Bible scripture in that moment, and I didn’t want a jaded opinion. I wanted some clarity and I asked God who should I call. Her name popped in my head. So I sent a text and she responded. I’m not including our entire text thread here but just a sentence from her response:

“…U will also know when u start to feel free of the responsibility to right the wrong.”

When I woke up on Tuesday, that’s the feeling that was over me. I no longer needed to right the wrong. I’ve done all that I could. I’ve fought for 30 years. I’ve spent all of that time trying to get justice for my Mom. All of that time trying to bring my family back together. All of that time trying to heal. And I did all that I could do. I reached out. I spoke truth. I forgave. I did everything.

In that moment…

I felt overwhelmed with anxiousness, like I was about to start running. I had this ridiculous surge of energy. I started pacing my home. Then I told myself to calm down and I laid on my bed. I had been outside, so I had my coat and shoes on. But I just laid on the bed. On my back, looking up at the ceiling.

My phone vibrated. It was a text:

“The b¡tch is dead.”

I didn’t respond to the text before I went onto Facebook and checked to see if there were posts on my timeline saying the same thing and sure enough, there was.

I started getting other texts and phone calls.

Breathe.

I started praying. Because I swear I see a sign in everything. And in this moment, I’d just announced that I had done all that I could do. I’d fought the fight that I could. I tried to handle this with as much respect, dignity, compassion, understanding, and patience as I could muster. It’s taken years away from my life. It’s time for me to move on. “Let go, let God”. Because truthfully, I’d been trying to do God’s work. And not doing mine.

This is what I was saying as I was lying across the bed.

Then that text.

(I don’t call women b¡tches. Ever. That’s not a term that I find proper, ever. That’s what the text said. I don’t agree with their language, but I understand.)

Anyway.

Years ago, a friend of Hazel’s called me. In response to her reading my open letter in 2013. When we first got on the phone she said, “Cornelious, I believe you”. I laughed when she said that. She asked why I was laughing and I told her that I’ve never considered having to be believed. I didn’t write the letter to “be believed”. I wrote the letter because I’d been trying to “move on” and it was obvious that God needed me to face it. I’d always had the peace of mind from knowing what I’ve known. But I was carrying words, thoughts, and feelings that didn’t belong to me. They belonged to Hazel. I wrote the letter because Hazel needed to have all that energy and those words, back. Because no matter what, if no one else knew, her and I knew the truth. Everything that I’ve said about this was the truth. Not my truth. Not a truth. Not one of many truths. This is the truth.

And…

The truth doesn’t need anyone to believe it, for it to be true.

—-

This part though, is for and about the weirdo sh¡t that’s coming from the recesses of some dark and delusional people.

Everything that I’ve said, for the past 30 years of me saying it, I said while Hazel was alive. I sent it to Hazel. I made it available for EVERYONE and ANYONE to see and hear, tell and show Hazel. I didn’t whisper it. I didn’t make it private. I’ve never deleted one word or taken back one thought. And check this, I’ve had my website and social media for as long as they’ve been in existence. I’ve always said the exact same things.

Hazel never had the audacity, courage, balls, or energy to contradict, combat, or communicate ONE WORD to me. She couldn’t and she didn’t.

I gave her grace and showed her mercy though. Because as I’ve said, I know why she did it. That doesn’t make what she did right, but I’ve never been in the dark about it.

Buuuuuuuuut…

To those that have all the words and feelings towards me, please keep that sh¡t where you’ve been keeping it, to yourself. I don’t have the same grace, mercy, or forgiveness, for you. Because what you obviously don’t know is how many people around you know what she did. How many people around you have called, texted, or inboxed me with information and details about things that she’s done. For years.

It is what it is. People chose sides. You chose yours. I see that now.

(Cont’d)