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”

©️2023 Cornelious “See” Flowers