Realities of Deception

People are funny creatures. And people are meaning-making machines. As a mediator between victims of violent crime and their offenders in prison, I learned this early. I have listened to the stories of the survivors attempting to find meaning in the meaningless vacuum of violent crime. This is the story of Lily. Her father was murdered.

Lily needed to meet with the man who killed her father. She wanted to meet with him for one reason, and one reason only, to learn about the last moments of her father’s life. I didn’t know then, but this would begin a journey of learning how far people will go to make meaning fit within a desired reality. In my first meeting with Lily, she described the details of her father’s murder. Her story began thirty years earlier.

Auburn curls fell loosely on the back of the pudgy girl staring out the front window of their small apartment. Sitting on the couch behind, her mother pressed back tears. She watched the dark silhouette of her child, who would stand guard for hours waiting for the man that would never appear. Lily watched unwaveringly. Her daddy was coming today. 

At noon, her mother insisted it was time for lunch. Lily’s shadowed eyes dropped to the floor as she shuffled into the kitchen. Daddy said he would come, but another Saturday came and went leaving the sad truth of empty promises. 

Her father remarried a year earlier and moved to another state with his new family. Lily wondered if he was there when they did homework in the evening. She did hers alone while. She wondered if he took them on vacation. Lily didn’t go on vacations, she did chores. She made up her mind; he must love them more.

Twenty years later, out of the blue, Lily received a call from her father. “I know you may not want me in your life now, but I realize I have not been a good father and hope to make it up to you.” All the disappointing empty Saturdays just evaporated into a sad memory as Lily was eager and willing to get to know her father. 

 For five years, he was in her life. When his wife passed away, he moved closer to Lily and her family. He came to visit at least once a month, sometimes more. Their new life as father and daughter was growing slowly, but for the first time, it was real. Then out of nowhere, it was over. Late one evening, she opened the front door to be greeted by a police officer asking if she was Lily. 

 Afraid her answer would bring dreadful news, she hesitated before whispering, “yes.”

 Bluntly the officer said, “Your father has been killed.” 

The officer’s words floated around the room, but all Lily could see was the pudgy girl standing at an empty window for the rest of her life. 

And now ten years later and she was still trying to make sense of all those words. As we visited, Lily provided details of what she believed had happened to her father. After the crime, she scoured over inconsistent aspects of police reports, media coverage, and conversations. Her biggest frustration was the inconsistency and gaps of missing information. It forced her to create her own narrative to make sense about what happened that night. 

 The next week I met Marcus, the man who killed her father. The pale man with only a few teeth was not what I expected. His long thick nails traced the carvings in the picnic table in the visitation room of prison as he gave details of the murder. When he finished his story, all the inconsistencies made sense and filled in all the gaps. While the details finally made sense with what the police found, they did not line up with Lily’s narrative. And those details did not paint her father in the best light. 

 So, on my second visit with Lily I asked, “What will you do if the offender tells you something other than what you believe happened?

 “I will know he is lying.” she replied quickly.

 I reminded her she started this process to learn the details of that night. If Marcus didn’t tell her narrative, meaning he was lying, what would be the goal of the meeting? 

Hesitantly she said, “I guess I need to be open to what he has to say.”

Finally, the day of the mediation between Lily and Marcus arrived. Within a few minutes, the conversation flowed with questions, answers, and details of the last few weeks of her father’s life. Several times when Marcus spoke, Lily would say something like, oh, that makes sense. Or, that is why the police reports said blah blah blah.

Hours later, with a much different story than Lily started with, the mediation ended. She heard things about her father she didn’t want to hear. But both Lily and her husband agreed that the details Marcus provided made so much more sense.

Then, at our final meeting a month later, Lily changed that perspective, “I have thought about what Marcus said. I was right; he was lying.”

She went on to say, “I know my father, and he would never do the things Marcus said.”

I asked, “Do you remember saying during the mediation that the details fit and made sense?”

“Of course, I do, but I have thought about it since then….” And she spent the next thirty minutes with her attempt to explain away every part of Marcus’ account. 

 I believed Marcus. And, initially, Lily believed him. But somewhere along the way, what Lily wanted to believe became more important than what was true. 

 I walked away, asking myself…Do I ever create a reality to confirm what I want to be true for the sake of truth itself?

Do you?