The Blame

I have been pondering.
Yesterday night I watched this documentary about murders that occur within a family by their own family members. I’d like to share.
In the first case, the wealthy american family consisted of two parents, three teenage girls and one young-adult son. They were a happy family and blessed with money. Unfortunately, their first son, was still quite unstable. He had to constantly borrow money from his parents not just to support himself, but his two infant daughters from two different mothers. His father was tired of constantly supporting him as an adult and wanted him to stand on his two feet. The son was angry about that. The father didn’t understand what he was going through. Either way, one autumn night, someone broke into the family house and shot the parents and the three daughters dead multiple times. Mostly through the head, probably to make sure they stayed dead. No-one would have suspected the son if it hadn’t been for the fact that the youngest daughter had placed a terrified 911 call, in which she’d begged her brother to stop before a gunshot cut off the call. The son knew that with his whole family dead, he stood to inherit his parents $2.2m estate. Of course he denied it at first, but later confessed. Apparently, put under so much pressure, he’d seen it as the only way to make ends meet.
In the second instance, an asian family living in the U.S consisted of two parents, an older daughter who had moved out of the house, and a younger daughter who was in high school. The younger daughter had a boyfriend that she was really into. Like, really, really. The only bad thing was that the mother didn’t want her to date this boy. She told her daughter to stay away from this boy time and time again.She even publicly disgraced the two teenagers one day when she publicly warned the boy to stay away from her daughter on one of the daughter’s dates. This made the daughter so mad she planned with her boyfriend to have her mother killed. Laid out a very intricate plan actually. Unfortunately, they succeeded in killing this poor woman who was only trying protecting her daughter. What made this death so painful to me was that, instead of the daughter giving her mother a clean way to go, like a bullet through the head, she’d had her boyfriend beat her and beat her, while she watched. Then finally finish her off by using something like a base-ball bat to smash her skull in. It was horrendous that this had actually even happened. When the grieve-stricken aunt had asked her in prison why she’d killed her own mother, who had given her everything, she simply said she’d wanted her freedom. That was the last time they spoke.
These are two stories about death in the family. In cases like this, people usually ask why. Especially when the death is as a result of their very family members. People also start to blame. Themselves, each other, circumstances. In these two stories, there are so many things that could have been to blame for what transpired. In the first story, the parents could have been to blame, for not being patient enough with their son, or maybe the son should’nt have been so promiscous to get two daughters out of wedlock at such a young age, or maybe he should have studied harder in school, to have gotten better qualifications, for better jobs, or he should have stopped being dependant on his parents earlier, so it would’ve been easier for him, or maybe that last guy who’d fired him should’ve just kept him on, or maybe the mothers-of his girls should have just said no when they had the chance. Or maybe he should have just miscarried in the womb!
In the second story, maybe the mother should have just let her date the damn boy, or not have been so harsh in her refusal to let her daughter date him, or maybe her elder sister should have been around more to realise that her younger sibling had gotten to such a sick place mentally. Or maybe the boyfriend should have just stayed with his last girlfriend. Or maybe this family should have never left Asia.
The point is, there are so many different ways these stories could have ended. But life happened the way it did. It’s a play with no rehearsals and do-overs, life. Shit happens. And there’s no time machine for us to undo the things we regret. Like these families, there’s nothing we can do but grieve, move on, and try to forgive ourselves.

Posted from My Own Space


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