Some days are nice to remember, while others we wish we could forget...
And for me, today is one of those days I would love to forget. But I cannot. This was the day of my arrest.
It was on a hot night back on August 10, 1977, when a platoon of New York City police detectives with guns drawn, surrounded my car and yelled, "Police, freeze!" And that is exactly what I did. I froze. Because if I didn't, I wouldn't be writing this journal entry today. I'd be dead!
While all these forty-seven years later, what most people probably don't know is how I much grieve over the crimes I committed, and over the senseless loss of innocent lives.
The passing of decades has not diminished the memories I have of those dark times. I've by no means forgotten those who lost their lives, nor the ones who were badly injured. I am likewise aware of the emotional pain experienced by the families who lost a loved one. While the ones who were injured continue to suffer both physically and emotionally this very day.
In a different way, I also grieve for my loved ones. They were left humiliated and devastated by my actions. My family was torn apart by what occurred. I saw the agony in their faces as they struggled to come to terms with everything,
My beloved adoptive father Nathan was heartbroken beyond words, and so was my sweet mother Betty, who brought me into the world. Their lives were turned upside down. Sadly, they would take their grief to the grave.
Looking back, it all seems surreal. There's a part of me that still cannot fathom why it all happened. But it did. Lives were lost, while others were left scarred for life. Even my own life was damaged by my having to spend the rest of it locked away from society.
And although Christ would come into my heart some ten years into my prison sentence bringing with Him forgiveness and redemption, I still cannot forget the days of Son of Sam. They were a nightmare for me. I wish I could forget them, but I cannot.
D.B.
It was on a hot night back on August 10, 1977, when a platoon of New York City police detectives with guns drawn, surrounded my car and yelled, "Police, freeze!" And that is exactly what I did. I froze. Because if I didn't, I wouldn't be writing this journal entry today. I'd be dead!
While all these forty-seven years later, what most people probably don't know is how I much grieve over the crimes I committed, and over the senseless loss of innocent lives.
The passing of decades has not diminished the memories I have of those dark times. I've by no means forgotten those who lost their lives, nor the ones who were badly injured. I am likewise aware of the emotional pain experienced by the families who lost a loved one. While the ones who were injured continue to suffer both physically and emotionally this very day.
In a different way, I also grieve for my loved ones. They were left humiliated and devastated by my actions. My family was torn apart by what occurred. I saw the agony in their faces as they struggled to come to terms with everything,
My beloved adoptive father Nathan was heartbroken beyond words, and so was my sweet mother Betty, who brought me into the world. Their lives were turned upside down. Sadly, they would take their grief to the grave.
Looking back, it all seems surreal. There's a part of me that still cannot fathom why it all happened. But it did. Lives were lost, while others were left scarred for life. Even my own life was damaged by my having to spend the rest of it locked away from society.
And although Christ would come into my heart some ten years into my prison sentence bringing with Him forgiveness and redemption, I still cannot forget the days of Son of Sam. They were a nightmare for me. I wish I could forget them, but I cannot.
D.B.
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