A FATHER'S URGE TO FORGIVE

By BUD WELCH

Every Wednesday at 11:30, I'd meet my daughter Julie-Marie for lunch at a Greek restaurant across the street from the Murrah building. She spoke five languages and translated Spanish for the Social Security office there. But on Wednesday, April 19, 1995, I never got to have lunch with Julie-Marie. I miss her so--her smile, her kindness. She was only 23.

Every day for a year, I'd come by the fence that encircles the footprint of the Murrah building, where it once stood, where she died. And during the first few months after the bombing, I was not opposed to the death penalty for Timothy McVeigh. But as time has gone on, I've tried to think this out for myself. Right now I'm trying to deal with forgiving. I can't tell myself or anyone else that I've forgiven Timothy McVeigh, because I have not. But my spiritual being tells me I have to deal with that. And if he is sent to death row, or if he's executed, I won't be able to choose to forgive him. As long as he's alive, I have to deal with my feelings and emotions. I'm afraid that it's going to be a real struggle. But it's a struggle I need to wage. And I can't do that if he's dead.

There's been enough bloodshed where this fence now stands. We don't need to have any more. To me the death penalty is vengeance, and vengeance doesn't really help anyone in the healing process. Of course, our first reaction is to strike back. But if we permit ourselves to think through our feelings, we might get to a different place. I was taught that even the souls of dastardly criminals should be saved. I think it is necessary, even for the soul of Timothy McVeigh. I think my daughter's position on this would be the same as mine. Since I've started expressing my views, I've been surprised by the number of people who tell me they feel the same way but were afraid to say anything for fear of offending those, like myself, who were most affected by the bombing.

There are some other basic reasons why I'm opposed to executing him. First, it doesn't make any difference. The bottom line is that my little kid's not coming back. I'll have to deal with this till the day I die. Killing McVeigh will not change that. The second reason is that dead men don't talk. If he's in prison long enough, McVeigh may tell us what his thought processes were, why he did what he did, and who else was involved. I want to hear that information, even if comes out in the form of bragging.

I now go to the fence about twice a week. I go at least once during the week, and I always stop by on Sundays after 12 o'clock Mass. This place has a lot of meaning for me, especially the elm tree in the parking lot. We call it the Survivor Tree. Julie always liked to park her little red Grand Am on the east side of that tree, in the shade. Now it's the only living thing left in this place. When I go there, sometimes I lean against the trunk, close my eyes, listen to the leaves and think about the way it used to be. Then I go down to the fence, and strangers will sometimes ask me questions: "Where was the front door to the building?" or "Where was the truck parked?" Then I tell them who I am, and they share their deepest thoughts with me. That's a very positive thing--to touch and see and talk and visit. And to continue to tell the story of who my Julie-Marie was.