The ultimate secret is...

So, you really want to know?

I wish that someone would have told me this - several years ago, at the beginning of all of this. Although, now that I think about it... I probably wouldn't have believed them. Like so many others before me, what kept me sane was thinking otherwise. It kept me moving forward when I thought I couldn't go through with it.

I couldn't bring myself to believe anything else. This secret was so counter-intuitive to what I had been told - to what we all want to believe - that it made no sense.

Until the end, that is. Then, suddenly it became crystal clear.

Are you ready? Here it is:

There is no such thing as "closure".

The end.

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No, really.

Because, you see, that's it. You don't get to have "closure" on something like this.

The best you can hope for is peace of mind. Knowing that you did everything you could to right a wrong. Feeling secure in the knowledge that you did your duty as a law-abiding citizen. A sense of accomplishment, perhaps.

But you don't get CLOSURE. Because once you have lived through something like this, it becomes all too apparent that CLOSURE is something for the people who stood on the periphery.

I didn't do this - I didn't live through this whole experience for the CLOSURE to begin with. I did what I had to do because it was The Right Thing. I blew the whistle because I had no other choice. She had to be stopped, and she had to be prevented from ever hurting anyone else again.

And yet, it's hard to believe, isn't it? I mean, that's what we are all told. That you must have CLOSURE. The implication is that if you don't get CLOSURE you'll never be able to move on with your life. You'll be hung half-way; neither fish nor fowl, as useful as a spork for the rest of your miserable, CLOSURE-less existence.

Guess what? They're wrong.

Trust me, you don't feel good watching someone - anyone, let alone someone you loved, someone you thought would be by your side for the rest of your life, someone who you trusted so completely, be hauled off in handcuffs, to spend the rest of their life in jail.

You don't even think about CLOSURE at a moment like that. Mostly, you think about where the closest place is you can either [a] go vomit, or [b] get drunk. Or, [c] do both.

And the reality that hits you square between the eyes, is very simply this:

It's never over. You will never get that much-ballyhooed CLOSURE.

There are a lot of reasons - just a few of which are that there is paperwork to be filled out (so that I can be notified and protected if she ever escapes from jail. Because, she will come after me. That much has been made quite clear to all who were in the courtroom during the trial.) There will be the inevitable appeals. Our ADA tells us that the appeals alone could drag out for ten years or more. Eventually, there will be parole hearings, which we will have to attend, and testify at, to insure that she never is allowed to go free.

Closure?

No. Because it will never really be over. It's now a part of me. Of who I am. I will live with this, with the outcome as surely as she will. No, I'm not being punished - I'm not going to jail. But in a very real sense, my life has changed as much as hers has. It will never be as it was before; I will never be as I was before the trial. My innocence, my faith, my trust, all broken. As time passes, and the daily minutiae of our lives fills my head, I pray that I will have whole days when no thought of this echoes through my mind.

But for now, it is ever-present. I cannot stop comparing my life to hers.

My husband and I are happily married. Her husband is now suing her for divorce, and seeking full custody of all of her children.

I can hug my child any time I wish to; I will be there as she grows up. She will have to wait for visiting days to see her children, and will miss everything important from now on: Proms, graduations, weddings, grandchildren.

I can travel freely - I can go where I please, whenever I please. She cannot, and will not for the rest of her life. Incarceration tends to slow a person down from what I hear.

I live in a modest, but comfortable home. I have carpets on the floors, and curtains on the windows. She lives in a jail cell.

By comparison, my life is full of love, and comfort, and freedom. Her life will be lived essentially devoid of all of those things.

Closure?

No.

Sadness, yes. To some extent, relief that this part is over. But, closure? No.

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Should you ever (and God, I truly and sincerely pray that you don't) find yourself in a similar situation, I want you to remember this:

Screw CLOSURE. Do the right thing, tell the truth, be a good citizen, and then get on with your life. Because CLOSURE doesn't really exist.

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And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen... we close this chapter, and safely return you to our regularly scheduled topic for this blog...

Waiting for a sentence...

The next portion of our educational and soul-sucking journey through The Legal System is what we will call "Sentencing", Ladies and Gentlemen.

I would like to also call it "happening tomorrow". Or even "be there next week". However, that is not how things work in Real Life.

As I alluded previously, we have discovered that in Real Life, courtroom drama takes weeks. Maybe months. Sometimes, years even.

We have learned to be patient.

We have learned to always arrive prepared.

We have learned to expect the worst, pray for the best, and trust the Assistant District Attorney assigned to the case.

And the ADA says that the Sentencing Phase will happen late next month. But based on the jury's verdict, we already know what the minimum sentence is that can be handed down in this case. (the maximum is nearly irrelevant; how many more years past "life" can you live in jail?) We also already know what penal facility she will be sent to. What her prisoner number is. We know the anticipated processing date - the (tentative) date that she will leave the county jail, where she is now, to go to "the big house". As my grandmother used to say, it's all over except for the crying.

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I'm going to close this chapter of my life. Aside from those things listed above, I have learned many other things during the course of the trial, and during the long hours that the jury was out.

I've had to replay a significant chunk of my life - our life as a family - in court during testimony. And while there was no one "aha!" moment, by the time the trial was over, it was apparent to me that my now-former friend has been living a sad, shallow, hollow existence. No one loves her enough to come to her trial; even her own children stayed away. Her family refused to testify on her behalf, and the one person who did take the stand (as her witness, for the defense) wound up making things worse for her. At first, she tried to appear carefree and confident, but as the trial wore on, and the defense ran out, she simply began to look frantic.

By comparison, I sat calmly, with my husband by my side, and an entire legion of supporters. Mutual friends came - a few to see the show, to be sure, but nearly all were in support of what I had had to do. Because of the sensational nature of the case, law students were brought in to observe from the local college, and the media couldn't get enough.

Let this be a lesson to you - as I have said before, despite what the TV dramas portray, they don't wait patiently for you on the courthouse steps. They dog you when you are trying to go to the bathroom. They chase you down hallways, and stairwells, and they quickly know what car you drive, and camp out next to it. They get your phone number, and fill your answering machine with requests for interviews, statements, quotes, anything. They call your friends and your family. They park at the end of your driveway. They follow you to the grocery, the doctors office, even church. They all just want "one little quote", "one quick interview", "one little minute of your time".

But it doesn't matter anymore. Because I have "it". I have what she wants - what she has always wanted, always craved. I have the life she wants, and tried so hard to create. I have the peace, and tranquility that comes only from living the truth. I have a loving family, and a strong marriage. I have the support of my friends, the weight of public opinion on my side, and most importantly, a verdict from a jury of her peers.

I also know the ultimate secret that comes from living through something like this...

Do you want to know what it is?

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury...

... have you arrived at a verdict?

Yes, we have Your Honor.

Guilty.

All counts.

She has been handed over to the jailers.

She can never hurt or deceive anyone again.

The District Attorney says that she will probably spend the rest of her life in jail.

God help us all.