Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row (31 page)

That first afternoon of freedom with Damien was the hardest. We went from the courtroom to a hotel in Memphis where everyone was having a daylong-into-evening party. Damien and I took some time in our room. For all those years of constant surveillance, here we were at last alone, and I was a little scared. Not of Damien, but of the
huge
responsibility I had. I had no idea how damaged he was from the trauma he had endured—and I wouldn’t make a dent into that insight for six months. Looking back, I wonder how we made it at all. It felt like sleepwalking.

But we did, and it’s just another chapter in our lives, and one from which I have once again learned how extraordinary Damien is. He has come so far in the last two years; and all I can do is look forward to what he—and we—will do next.

The last two years haven’t been easy. Damien suffered from extreme PTSD, and I was lost for much of the time, trying to figure out what the next step would be, but mostly I was trying to take care of him. I was afraid he was broken, and that I would never be able to put him together again, but my Damien is extraordinary—as I have always known, as these letters attest to. He has come so far, and he is getting better every day, as am I.

I wake up sometimes wondering if we’re doing the right thing for us, putting these letters, putting our lives out there for everyone to see. I had horrible fantasies that we would be taken apart for being weirdos, but after reading them, I realize it’s the
only
thing I want to do right now. We lived this, and we won. We are now living the very things we wrote about; we wrote them into being, and if that doesn’t speak to true, absolute magick, I don’t know what else does.

I wouldn’t wish this life for anyone. I would never suggest to a young woman to find a man in prison to write to, to fall in love with and to marry him. It’s a brutal life for everyone involved. It breaks hearts over and over again. It is a life of deprivation that cannot be sated. I’ve had women write to me or ask me for advice who have found themselves in my situation—but I don’t respond, because I know nothing I say will deter them. All I know, at the risk of sounding astoundingly vain, is that there will never be another situation like mine and Damien’s. It was the perfect storm, so to speak—we had resources and supporters from around the world, we had actual innocence, and we somehow had the strength and love to hold on.

Looking back at the first letters and reliving everything after, I am struck with our naiveté—perhaps mine more than Damien’s. He worked so hard at trying to convince me that he was all right. I was so dramatic in those first years, flying so close to the sun, not caring how far out I would venture, though in reality, it was all very close. There was just Damien and me, living in our heads and hearts, but to us it was a huge, scarily crazy adventure, because we dared to be honest with each other, and to follow whatever path our love would take us on.

I think that’s the part I find hardest to read, or maybe it’s comforting: We grew up. We came to a realization that in order to survive, we would have to go through searing pain. I don’t even know if we realized that it was imperative to take us to the place where we would form a spiritual connection and that it would be the foundation of our relationship. Without that, the jealousies, the insecurities, and the pain we inflicted upon each other because of the insane circumstances would’ve eventually killed who we were. No love can survive such degradation without eventually finding a spiritual foundation, and that is what we believe and live today.

This book is our only way of showing others what it can take to keep love alive, even in the direst of circumstances. There are many people who face horrific and daunting situations. War, illness, crime—these are just some of the human conditions that cause unbelievably difficult scenarios for love. But somehow we keep finding it in all these places, and somehow we find humor and grace and humility, and even sex. Thank goodness for sex.

We will never, ever be able to fully describe what happened to us, why we found each other, and the love and perseverance it took to stay together. I just knew that once I got to know Damien, he would be my life. We still believe we will create our world, and we have many, many dreams. It’s going to be a wonderful life.

As I read through these letters for the first time—it took me a while to do it, long after they had been transcribed, because I was scared—but as I read through them, I was taken back to every emotion, every longing, every painful moment, every fear. But most of all, I was made aware of what a miracle it is to have Damien with me, right now. There are times he lays his head in my lap and I stroke his hair, and I am overcome with amazement. I still walk into a room to see him and can’t believe he is here with me.

Lorri

[Undated]

Lorri,

All I know is that I’ve got to get the hell out of here. I’ve reached the critical point. The machine is spinning full speed, and I’m holding on so tight my hands have no blood in them. In my head I can see one of those cartoons from the
New Yorker
—it shows Dennis talking to a skeleton covered in spiderwebs. He’s saying, “Don’t worry, the longer it takes, the better!” When I do those public talks, people will be shocked. Liberals, defense attorneys, anti–death penalty groups—I’ll talk about them just as much as the state. Imagine—we may not have to deal with the state at all—the judge may just throw the whole thing out and dismiss the case. In fact, if they can match the handprint, that’s exactly what I’d bet happens. No deals, no bargains, no trials, nothing. First stop—to get my wedding ring sized. Second stop—the dentist. Then a long and meandering ride wherever we want.

Damien

postscript 2014

December 31, 2013

The last day of the year, and I’m spending it on the streets of NYC. It’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because there’s nothing and no place in the world that is more magickal or meaningful to me. I can feel the way time has wound down and come to a grinding halt on this gray and velvety day. It has the melancholy air of something coming to an end, but also the excitement of something new beginning.

Art, art, art—my brain is alive with it these days, almost overwhelmingly so. This is one of the reasons I’m so fiercely in love with NYC. Not just that she is MY city, that she loves me and conspires with me to make tiny pockets of magick within her dark places—but the art. My God, it’s everywhere. The city is saturated in it, drunk on it. From the biggest, most highbrow museums to the graffiti on every vacant wall. New York does not only inspire art—she is art. She turns life itself into a strange and glittering work of art.

Every art form in the world can be found on these streets, and every variation on that art form. For example, I have a friend named Vincent Castiglia who does giant paintings entirely in his own blood. Another friend, Jen DeNike, orchestrates performance pieces, which usually consist of naked girls doing various divination techniques.

For me, it’s photography. I’ve come to love creating and capturing images. I’m nearly obsessed with it. I want to create dark and velvety scenarios that take the breath away. I want to use photography as my gateway into the realm of sensuality and debauchery. I want to bring every decadent desire to the forefront of the viewer’s consciousness. To make them crave something more than the mundane existence they’ve been told they have to settle for. And New York is the perfect place—the only place—to do that. After all, the entire city is a decadent feast for the senses.

The next step I have to take is overcoming all fear. I’ve been out of prison about two and a half years now, yet I still experience fear on a daily basis. I’ve found that the only thing that breaks the walls of this internal prison is to force myself to do whatever it is that fills me with dread. Things like riding the subway by myself for the first time, or journeying into strange parts of town. The thing is, up until now I’ve eased into those things like an old man slipping into a tub of warm water. I can feel in my bones that those days are over. They say that fortune favors the bold. I want to find out if that’s true. I want to throw myself into this life with a vengeance. I want to slam myself through all the barriers that fear has erected in my soul. My body may have left prison two and a half years ago, but my heart and soul did not. Now it’s finally time for that to happen. Art will be the horse I ride to freedom.

Damien

january 2014

It’s snowing again. In a matter of a couple of hours it blanketed everything. It makes the world feel so soft and quiet. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, or view it as anything less than pure magick.

A little earlier I went outside to watch it. I stood there, sending out tentacles to feel the night more than just look at it. Everything was completely silent, surrounding me like the most comforting cocoon. Lorri came over to me and asked, “What is it?”

I tried to explain it to her—how when I tell people that I imagine heaven to be a place where it’s always winter, this is the energy I’m trying to convey. That to a ghost, every moment is exactly like this one. That when I am dead, this is where I will be. She just said, “I better be there.”

I said, “Always.”

Now I’m inside, in my safe little lair, and I feel more content than I have ever been in my life. The room is dimly lit, my tea is warm, and my pillows are as soft as clouds. All those years on death row, this is what I wished for. This is what I created in my mind to escape to, and now I have it in the physical realm. I am finally happy.

Damien

acknowledgments

To my friends Shelley Huber, Susan Wisniewski, Sherri Peacock Rebois, and Julie Althoff Bush, who believed in us from the beginning.

When I first got to Arkansas, I was taken in by Mara Leveritt and Linda Bessette. I will forever be grateful for the friendship and support you both gave us, and for all the good advice, meals, movies, and a feeling of family. I met Lucy Sauer at the prison and she taught me how to sit Zen meditation, performed our wedding, and loaned us $10,000 when the defense fund was desperate. I worked at Little Rock Parks and Recreation, and there I met Shellie Sawrey. Shellie, your friendship got me through some hard times, and you came to our wedding! I sat Zen meditation at a center in Little Rock, and there I met Mary Horne, who is still close to us to this day. Through our Saturday-night dinners I met Capi Peck, who changed my life. Capi, words can’t contain the love we have for you, and no one has ever lived so well in Little Rock as I did. We had so much fun, and you gave so much of yourself to attaining Damien’s freedom. David Jauss, our dear friend. Craig Stamper, thank you for the guidance and advice, but most of all for teaching me how to have the confidence to trust what I can’t see. Jen DeNike, who keeps us on our toes and is a dear, sweet friend. Thank you, Randall Jamail for the excellent advice and the reassurance. Jacob Pitts: our long-lost brother, friend, and one of the loves of our lives. To Kelly Quinn, for all the rides to the prison and for caring for Tellus, Elkie, and Goswyn.

There are those of you who made my life a whole lot easier—Allen Smith, thanks for hiring me, and for letting me build my professional life around my visits with Damien. Martin Eisle, for acupuncture and friendship. Whenever I needed camera-ready hair, there was Mary Anne Britton. Thank you for all the fun times in that chair. Our book club! The Sowers, where I first learned how amazing Little Rock women were. It took finding you to bring socializing back into my life. I’m so grateful for your support. All who made up Arkansas Take Action: Our dear friends John Hardin, Rob Fisher, and Bryan Frazier, who did the unthinkable for the case, we will never forget your bravery; Claire LaFrance, Stephanie Caruthers, Holly Ballard, Tony Peck, Mike Ledford, and Mike Poe; Brent Peterson, our true friend who was always the warrior; Laird Williams; Steve Johnson; John and Laura Hardy, and countless others who made all the difference. Jim Pfieffer, our neighbor who took up the trash every week so I would have one less thing to worry about, and our accountant, Mike Johnson, thank you for everything. Our favorite Dharma teacher, Anna Cox—your persistence has created vast changes for inmates all over the country. Thank you, Emily Kern.

Then there were the thousands from around the world who donated funds and supported us in ways from which we’re still reeling. In L.A.: Kathy Bakken, Chad Robertson, Burk Sauls, Grove Pashley, and Lisa Fancher ran the WM3.org website and were always there to help in any way. Damien had the opportunity to first show his art through our friend Anje Vela’s efforts. Charlotte Morgan, Nick Arons, and Gita Drury brought the cause to New York and made waves. In Seattle, Kelly Canary and Danny Bland—Kelly, your friendship, support, and legal expertise helped in more ways than you know; Danny, your 2000 benefit album set us off on a path we’re still on. Jene O’Keefe—always there and now helping those in similar situations in New Orleans. Nicole Vandenberg, you amaze us to this day. Your quiet determination, sage advice, and willingness to stick it out with us has been one of the gifts of our lives. Kelly Curtis, we know how much happened because you were at the helm. In Austin, Ruth and Bill Carter. Cally Salzman and Douglas Giametto in San Francisco, who are family to us and helped to fund Damien’s Rule 37 hearings. Stephanie Shearer and Chris Bacorn from Denver, who are ceaselessly entertaining and brought us so much fun through their letters and visits. Ruth Carter in Virginia, the sweetest of souls.