The next day (I think), a guard came and brought me my clothes and told me to get dressed, as he stood there and watched. I was brought to a courthouse, for a bail hearing. All I could do was ask ‘Please let me go and see my daughter, please, please, please. And the judge did! Judge Cowart (I will always remember that man) let me go to the funeral home to see Joy, to her funeral, and after I was convicted he had me taken to the cemetery so I could say good bye to her.

I wrote the following poem for Joy and put it in her casket at her funeral:

We were so lucky God gave you to us,

You gave us your love, you gave us your trust.

With your golden blonde hair and eyes shining bright,

God made you so beautiful, so perfect, so right.

Now you are gone and I’m so full of grief,

Only 3 years old, your time here so brief.

But now you can see, you can laugh and can play,

And I promise you honey, I’ll be with you some day.

What love is, Joy was.

A day or two later after I had met with a shrink and started on I don’t know what kind of meds (What I was given, I took gratefully), I was given my clothes, taken to an elevator, and transferred up stairs to a ‘high profile’ cell block. When I was taken to the funeral home and to her funeral, upon return I was always put back in that strip cell downstairs for a day or two, leaving me naked and shivering on that narrow bench, not understanding how the world had tilted so badly.

I went on trial six months later.

So many questions. All I wanted to do was sleep. I was so tired. I didn’t want to think about what had happened.
They left me alone in an interrogation room and I climbed onto the desk and fell asleep.

I was awakened I don’t know how much later and told I was being taken to the Dade County Jail where I was going to be booked for 1st degree murder. As we left the police station or when we were entering the jail ( These memories are like leaves falling off a tree, so many, yet so random. It’s hard to put them in order), all of a sudden there were lights turned on everywhere and flashbulbs started to go off. I didn’t understand. I had no idea who I was, where I was. or what was happening. I was lost. I think I was in shock.

I was brought into the jail and placed in a strip cell where my shoes and all my clothes were removed. It was so cold.

I remember the cold.

I wrapped myself in toilet paper. From my ankles up to my chest. It was so cold. People kept walking by and looking at me as I lay on a narrow wooden bench meant to be sat on, shivering. Guards, inmates, and people in regular clothes. Some said kind things (I don’t remember what – just the tone), some said nothing.

But I remember one – this memory isn’t like a strobe light – it’s embedded in my soul. He came up to the bars and said “You killed your child. You’se a child killer.” and walked away

THAT set off the train

The train is what I call THOSE thoughts. Those thoughts that can only come from hell itself, because I know of no worse torture. “Were her last thoughts why did Daddy do this?” And “Did you do it to end her suffering, or yours, Charles?” They flew around my head, like a child’s train on a small oval track. Over and over again.

It doesn’t pull into the station as much anymore, but when it does.

That night, sitting in that strip cell, all illusions were gone. I had killed my baby. My beautiful little girl. To end her suffering? Yes. To end mine? I’m so afraid of that answer I can’t face it, even today. That night was long and painful and lonely and so cold.

‘Joy was at peace.’ ‘Joy was at peace.’ ‘Joy was at peace.’ I told myself that over and over and over throughout the night.