Never Gifted Access: A Plea

When I was told Sandra had been stabbed to death, I immediately felt it in my throat, like someone was grabbing my neck, and it was hard to breathe. When I learned it was you, I made up stories for you. In my head, you immediately realized your mistake and held her as she died. But then I learned how many times you’d stabbed her and realized I was making up excuses, trying to comfort myself. Every time I think of her, I feel my throat tighten.

When I found out the cause of her death was actually from her neck breaking, from the three places you broke it before you stabbed her - the brutality of what was done to my friend left me numb.

I learned after that, that she was identified by her body, because her face had also been stabbed so many times that her face was unrecognizable.

I was a nurse at this jail when you were arrested. Ten years ago, on my birthday, I lost a friend who overdosed the day he got out of jail. I didn’t know how to deal with the pain of that loss, and one way I chose to do so was to work in jail. I knew I couldn’t change what happened, but I could be a good nurse to people here. I took pride in that job.

When you killed Sandra, you took that from me. 

I was also a reserve firefighter-paramedic. Many of the patients I work with are Spanish-speaking only. Sandra and I would talk about calls where I couldn’t say what I wanted, and she would voice record it in Spanish so I could learn. 

She voice recorded stroke assessments, how to tell someone I need to check their blood sugar, how to explain what safety plan apps are for women experiencing domestic violence. These women often didn't want to come to the hospital with us, and we didn't want to leave them with nothing. 

I’d looked up translations before, but patients wouldn't understand me. I’d tell Sandra how I was saying it, and she would laugh, and tell me I was speaking posh-Spanish, so of course they didn’t understand. 

We worked out together almost every day. When I was having a hard time, she’d look back at me and say, “Let’s go girl!” and when she was having a hard time, I’d run next to her, “Si se puede,” I’d say, like she taught me.

Exercise is usually how I get through hard things. Since you took her, it has only served to highlight the emptiness of this loss.

I quit the jail when I found out I would have to be your nurse. I left the fire department when I realized I could not show up physically and emotionally prepared to do the job the way I expect myself to. 

Mine is one story, others are louder, and more impactful, and should be told - her friends from work, from church, her children. But look at what we are being asked to do - to show up in courtrooms on dates that are continually postponed and changed to then try and hold it together and articulate what Sandra means to us. 

I’m aware that the only reason I’m able to speak at all is because of the exposure I’ve had to horror through the work I chose. 

You killed Sandra on my birthday. She had planned a party for me with the women from our gym. You killed her two hours before we were supposed to meet. 

I have seen the dysfunction of jail, and wished for a better system. But cases like this are what it is for. I hope you are never gifted access to the community so many of us work to support and protect. You took my relationship with my friend, with my work, with myself, with God. You took someone whose impact on the world was massive. The ripple effect of her actions, we now never get to know, and the ripple effect of your actions, you will also never know.