Walking through a dark parking lot alone, I know that there is a very real possibility that I might encounter a mugger, a thief, or even worse a murderer. Violence and crime are ever present in our society today. However, it is reasonable to expect to be safe and secure in some situations. My mother entered one of those "safe" environments. No one hid in the shadows, no one grabbed for her purse, she wasn't violently attacked. But she lost her life just the same. What a betrayal of trust, when indifference and apathy or even worse still, deceit become weapons in the hands of a person expected to have compassion for those entrusted to their care. At least with a mugger, his victim has a fighting chance. I have talked to friends, family, clergy, and God since Mama's death. I gave and received comfort, but I had many unanswered questions. Questions that only those people present when Mama died can answer. It is for this reason I write the following letter:

To the Nurses and Staff at --------------Health Care Center:

October, 9th will be the second anniversary of my mother's untimely and unnecessary death in your lovely, clean, and supposedly well-staffed facility. Sometimes the grief is so intense that I can't hold back tears even now. I miss her so much. I know you don't miss her, because you never got the chance to get to know her. There are others in the health care profession however, who still weep when we talk of her. Unlike yourself, they grew fond of Mama as they took care of her before I sent her to you. Now this makes me wonder, do any of you, ever cry for my mother? Knowing that her death was avoidable, have you ever felt any responsibility, remorse, or guilt? I'm sure the lawsuit has caused you to stifle any raw emotion in that respect, because legal counsel would quickly tell you not to acknowledge any guilt or culpability, since this would not be good for "your side". My question though, is when you are alone with God and your own thoughts, do you sometimes cry for my mama? On the outside chance that some of you will be honest, I want to encourage you not to cry for her. If she could speak to you for herself, she would assure you that she is in a far greater and happier place than she ever experienced here on Earth. Heaven is very real, and indescribably beautiful. The peace and joy that she now experiences is all that comforts me even today. So, again I implore you do not cry for Rosalie Elizabeth Taylor Gleason. She doesn't need your tears.

On the other hand, we, her family do. We are left behind alone with the knowledge that so many of us will miss out on so much. Two more great grandchildren have been born into this family since October 9, 1994, the day my mother died. These two babies will have to depend on brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts and grandparents to share memories of Granny with them if they are to know Granny at all. So yes, there are many of us to shed your tears for. Our loss is greater than you will ever know. Mother's youngest grandson was born on her birthday; he is eight years old now. His birthday will always be bittersweet, because there will always be one less cake, one less party, one less guest of honor at the party. Now holidays and birthdays are tainted with grief. Shed your tears for yourselves.You missed the opportunity to know one of the most terrific ladies to ever walk this earth, and her blood is on your hands. Oh I know this statement seems too strong. You have probably convinced yourselves that you really didn't do anything that terrible. Perhaps, as a means of insulating yourself from the pain that comes withguilt and shame, you are saying to yourself, why should I concern myself with the pain of total strangers. I can understand that you see death and dying frequently. It would be natural to allow yourself to become indifferent at those times. But tell me, how do you become indifferent to death when you have played a major part in hastening it?

For almost two years I have had so many questions that can only be answered by that person or persons present on the evening of October 8, 1994. I pray that at least one of you will have the courage to provide answers that may comfort and console those of us robbed of the opportunity to share her last hours of life on this planet. Perhaps your answers will not be a comfort at all; but answers, whether they are good or bad, are better than the thoughts and imaginations that constantly plague us. What were my mother's last words? Was she frightened? One of us was always with her when she had any seizures and that was very important to Mother. Did she cry out for Sandy, Jackie, Kat, Linda, or Tommie Joyce? If she did, did you lie to her and assure her that we were on the way? Did you at least give her that hope? If my next question seems a bit cynical, it's because I am now. I know she begged for help, did you just tune her out? Did you think it would be better to let her die than to own up to losing her records and failing to medicate her? How do you manage to sleep?

I'm sure it is apparent to you that I still have a lot of anger. This is due in part to the fact that in nearly two years, I have not heard one of you give even a "lame" excuse for your actions or should I say lack of action. I have not heard one person say, I'm sorry. I remind you that I am aware that legal counsel would quickly intervene to stop you, but none of you even tried. Was my mother just another old person to you? Please, consider that she was a mother, grandmother, great grandmother, sister, and aunt. I am sure that each and every one of you has a family member that you will miss when he or she dies, but how much more painful is that loss when you know that it didn't have to happen. Learning to recognize and suppress anger has been a constant challenge since Mom's death. Even though I know anger is destructive, I still have not been able to overcome it. For twenty-six years, I have experienced a close personal relationship with Jesus Christ, but even before that, I considered myself a highly moral individual. I did not drink, I did not smoke, and I would not use profanity. My relationship with Jesus has served to reenforce that lifestyle. However since my mother's death, I have an anger inside me, that some may call righteous indignation, but I would call it being mad as Hell and not getting over it. This is torment for me. I don't like being angry. I don't like the person I have become. I can no longer say that I never use profanity, and of this I am deeply ashamed. Unlike any of you, I fully accept responsibility for my own actions and attitudes; I alone am accountable for the person I have become. At one point in a counseling session, we were instructed write an angry letter to God. I couldn't do it then. Perhaps that is my reason for this letter. I am relatively sure that no one at -------- Health Care Center will ever read this, but if I write down what I have been feeling for so long, perhaps I can begin to heal. I do want to be rid of this anger.

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