The Last Offense – An Offender’s Story
My name is Christopher Tross; age 28; divorced; an estranged lover; father of two
(2) daughters and (1) step son. I have a sister and a nephew. I come from a good
family where love and commitment were hallmarks of my upbringing. My parents,
devoted to each other, were likewise dedicated to rearing their children.
I was raised with love and understanding, sprinkled with all the joys and sadness
that came with full-time parents committed to their children and family living.
I lived with my family in the same house I was born in until age 20, when
I embarked on my own.
Ah! At
last my independence, freedom, fun and party time would be all mine. The genie
slowly came from out of the bottle, and the snakebite from illicit substances
wasn’t so bad. I began to think it was normal for people to have a few belts
to feel good and enjoy life. The secret of my joy was kept from my family.
I became an abuser of all substances. Then it happened.
On
March 11, 1993 in a drunken stupor, I killed James Szach, a 28-year-old single man
who was watching his disabled car being towed. I can’t tell you the actual
accounts of that evening because they’re completely blurred.
Yes, I went to prison--afraid for my life and morals every day for 30 months of
a five-year sentence. I felt completely abandoned; didn’t anyone care about my
life? While I couldn’t care less about my sister’s nightmares of that horrifying
night and death scene; less about missing the birth of my daughter; less about
the jail house divorce; less about the unexpected death of my mother from cancer;
less about my father’s loss and the grueling hospice and his daily tears. An
old girlfriend would be handy, and, I’d use her the same way I did everybody
else. The victim’s mother, now an AAIM volunteer, even forgave me my shame;
and with that hitting of rock bottom, the shadows of my life began to focus.
I had been the abuser who didn’t care.
I re-entered the world on parole. I lived with my girlfriend and sired yet
another daughter, only to find out that I might still love my former wife.
My sister had mellowed after the birth of my nephew and now was receptive to
forgive and forget. I spoke to blades of grass where my mother now lay.
It's hard to know her love and her pain. My father had aged but remembered
how to love his son. He supported and forgave while I took and I took all I
could get. Every day my abstinence was threatened by thought of my own
self-destruction. Maybe the genie could help? Everyone said “one step at a time”,
but I knew better than all of them, so I lied, saying I was doing fine.
FROM THE AUTHOR, CHRIS’ FATHER: On March 24, 1998, Christopher finally succumbed
to the genie and wrote his wish to “finally know peace”; he committed suicide.
How many lives need to be lost; families devastate; new generations affected?
Isn’t it time we finally take AAIM.
Richard Tross
