October 13, 2008
May 4, 2008
24 years
So I’ve been reading news articles about Josef Fritzl and the daughter he kept in captivity for 24 years, fathering her 7 children (and if I ever figure out how to hyperlink, I’ll kick some references in). Even though this happened a half a world away, I think about it. A lot. I think about what her days were like. What went though her mind when that metal door began to open. What it would be like with no room to run or jump or play. What it would be like to eat and wear only what is brought. What kind of stamina it would take to endure years of rape and abuse and seclusion and 6 pregnancies with no prenatal care. Twenty-four years of torture with no friends, no sunshine, no moonlight, and probably very few smiles..
It’s so tempting — and so easy — to socially convict this man. So many people have decided his fate already — an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Throw him in his own cellar and let him suffer the same life. Well, I guess. Let him to go trial first. (I’m fiercely pro-life here, so capital punishment is a no-no in my books). But really: there’s a LOT to this story that no one understands, and no one will ever understand. Yet here comes the mobs, pitchforks in hand.
Here’s what I think:
I think — no. I KNOW — there is good in this story. I see a strong woman who survived and did the best she could for her family. I see a mother who cooked for and bathed her children, and sang them lullabies at night to calm them. A woman who suffered when one child died and when 3 were taken upstairs to live. A woman who endured 6 labours and deliveries alone. Who ate and did laundry and survived in miserable conditions, and who put her own fears aside and cared for others. I see the good in the love of a mother who pleaded for life when her eldest fell ill. A sick child who brought her parents to their knees in finally seeking medical care.
I see the good in the reuniting of both the prisoners with the family upstairs and of the entire outside world. The youngest child squealing in delight of feeling sunshine for the first time. Of having toys and talking to others. Yeah, they’re in for a lifetime of rehabilitation, and no, it’s not fair. It’s really not.
Finally, I see the good and compassion of countless hospital staff, police, social workers, and therapists who have stepped in to help this family. And there are at least a million others who have read the articles and stories and will maybe think twice the next time they look in their fridges and decide there’s nothing good to eat. Or there’s nothing good on tv. Or their kids are being too loud, their mattress is lumpy, their house is too small, the weather is just not perfect, or a friend is being unfair.
I believe each and every God-given life has purpose. Each and every one. And perhaps this family was put in this situation to serve as a reminder to others: that freedom does not need first to be taken away to be taken for granted.
So, go for a drive. Sit in the sun. Kiss your babies. Enjoy. The day is yours.
