“It is not an easy decision. No one will win – we have all only lost. Even those of us who had no choice in serving on this jury have lost, even when we haven’t done anything.” – Me, Summer of 2012
For a very long time, I wasn’t able to talk about my time on the jury of a murder trial in 2012. Keeping a diary of my experience seemed like enough – and I’ll provide the links to that in a moment – but once it was over I was so traumatized and disoriented by the events that I literally couldn’t talk about it. When the topic came up, I would walk away, switch the conversation, or tell whomever was around I just didn’t want to talk about it. That had never been the case about anything before. Even when circumstances proved uncomfortable or sad or disturbing, I could still talk about them. This one shook me and spooked me in ways that shifted the very foundations of my adult life, and so I buried it. At least, I tried.
For the whole summer of 2012, I was haunted by my time on the jury. Haunted by the two boys whose lives were lost in very different ways. Haunted by the dismantling of everything I once held dear and important. Haunted by the swift and utter dissolution of all my happy illusions. Those ghosts would hang on until I started talking about it. Slowly and just a little at first. Then a bit more, and a bit more, until it was ok to ask me about it, until I could pass the courthouse at lunch and not feel the pit of worry in my stomach.
When I went into therapy we touched on the trial a bit, and this week I may bring it up again, as all of the media attention on the George Floyd trial and the jury speculation brought a bunch of memories back. I realized that I’d been avoiding much of the trial coverage because it was infuriating to see how the media commented about the jury and the assumed verdict.
The truth is that the only people who will ever know what those jurors actually saw and experienced are the jurors themselves. Not the lawyers, not the officers, and not even the judge knows exactly what they are going through or determining. It was one of the things that struck me most about the judge’s orders in our jury duty instructions. At some point in the trial he told us there was no one else on earth who would understand or realize what we were doing, and there was something very special and sacred in that.
As everyone was preparing for the George Floyd verdict, I found myself going back to my own jury duty days, and the way they profoundly changed my life in the summer of 2012. Reading through them again, I see the journey I took in a healthier way. In the beginning, I had just intended to document it for a funny blog post or two, whining and complaining about the smelly guy next to me, or the person who was cutting their toe-nails in public. I didn’t anticipate what it would become, or how it might change me.
- I can keep a secret…
- I was wrong about jury duty…
- A juror’s first impressions…
- Fingers crossed for a dismissal…
- Hopes of a dismissal dashed…
- On the third day…
- The third day continues…
- A brighter morning, a darker day…
- Disenchantment sets in…
- Tears on a Friday…
- The second week begins…
- The end of an endless day…
- Too tired to write, too haunted to care…
- The last full day of deliberation…
- The last day and the verdict…
- The first days after…
“There are strict instructions and guidelines for those serving jury duty. There are procedures and rules and laws we must abide. There is no such guidance for what to do when your jury duty is over, no advice on how best to decompress, how to reconcile your decisions with the aftermath of reality, no helpful word on how to forget.
I thought it would be easier to shake than this.
I am afraid I will be haunted.
And no one understands.”
