By Megan Tosner
I am not a stranger to loss. My family and I have endured loss more times than most, yet our faith has never faltered. I am blessed to have unvarying exemplars of strength in my life, for without them it would be easy to simply fall apart each time we were once again thrust into the grieving process.
My grandmother, Eileen Tosner, was a pinnacle of Christian conviction whose trust in God never wavered despite the loss of two sons to debilitating diseases. Communal worship at the church of Our Lady of Peace was an integral part of her daily life. It remained so until March 12, 2002, when a man named Peter Troy entered OLP with a .22 caliber rifle. That day he robbed us all of two incredible people, my grandmother and the Rev. Larry Penzes.
For more than a year I struggled with a new kind of grief. Nanny wasn't just gone, she had been taken. When I was first told of this tragedy, countless emotions seemed to boil at once until finally one spilled to the top -- it was the question "why?" It was as if my heart were broken, so my mind took over. It raced to cling to some solution so that these words entering my ears could somehow be linked to reality. My first thought was that this was an act of terrorism. It wasn't until later that I learned it was the act of one man, with no comprehensible reason for his depravity.
Ironically, anger never quite gained a foothold in my anguish. Thirst for answers seemed to take its place, rooting itself within me until the craving was satisfied. The more I learned about Troy, however, the more I realized the solace I needed would never come from him. When it was time for his trial, I went with the intention of soaking up all I could about what happened that day in order to make an abstract horror register in my mind as an actual occurrence.
Frank Schroeder, the assistant district attorney, opened the trial with a description of the peace and solace Troy had destroyed. His destruction was not limited to the lives he took, but the solace he took from my life, my family, Penzes' family, and the parishioners of OLP. It was this solace that I craved.
Throughout the trial, I often found myself fixated on the back of Troy's head. I wondered whether, if I had the opportunity to enter his mind, I'd even want to. I came to the conclusion that his thoughts were a dark portal into a hellish nightmare that I did not want to pursue. Peace and solace did not exist there, certainly not for me and probably not for him. Thankfully, I would find my consolation someplace else.
As the trial progressed, I heard heartbreaking testimony from those who were at Mass that day. These men were reduced to tears, obviously tormented by what they'd witnessed. I sincerely hope they realize that their testimony was indispensable, not only to the case but to my own understanding of what occurred. I can't even imagine how difficult it was for them to relive such devastation again in the presence of the man who forced it upon them, but I am truly thankful.
I am particularly thankful to Gerard Denk. Though I know he doesn't believe it to be so, he personifies the term hero. There are few people who possess the courage required to tackle a man with a gun. Troy's wrath would not have ceased if not interrupted, and many more would most likely have been lost. Many owe their lives to Gerard, and I hope he can fully comprehend what those words mean. From people like him, I find solace because I know that true heroes do exist.
The greatest sources of comfort I found in that courtroom were Schroeder and Detective Bill Brosnan. The courtroom can be an intimidating arena when you don't know what to expect. From the moment my mother and I arrived, we were greeted with the compassion that poured from these men who were, at the time, strangers. Their jobs did not require them to take time to explain anything in the trial that might be unclear, or to warn us of images that might be too painful to view. Regardless, they did all of this and more. The passion they, and those they worked with, possessed was evident throughout the trial and in the months leading up to it.
I was also extremely impressed and touched by James McCormack, the defense attorney. As a court-appointed attorney for such a controversial client, his job must have been unimaginably difficult. I'm sure there are many lawyers who would have stooped to underhanded techniques despite any twinges of conscience, but McCormack handled himself with dignity. I believe that without that, the trial would have been even more difficult.
I found in the people I encountered the solace I needed. In different ways, they gave me a sense of renewed faith in people after being caught in a whirlwind of perplexity. I had plunged into an environment I never imagined: a trial of the man who murdered my grandmother. It was an unfathomable scenario, almost too surreal to make sense of. This rang especially true when I watched a teacher from my school subpoenaed to testify on behalf of the defense.
The day of the verdict was one of unbelievable apprehension. It was as if I could feel the throbbing hearts of my family around me echoing with my own. When I heard the words "guilty of murder in the first degree," I breathed a sigh of relief that had been longing to escape from my lungs since a year ago March 12. Of course, it didn't bring Nanny or Father Penzes back, but it ensured that Troy would never again wreak havoc in the world. The verdict helped bring peace of mind.
For me, and I'm sure for all of those affected by the tragedy at OLP, there are miles to go before I sleep. My feelings toward Troy range from compassion to sheer bewilderment. I have come to learn that there is great power in forgiveness. It is a gift people can give to themselves as well as others, or else they will forever remain plagued by looming bitterness. That is not something I plan to invite into my life. Instead I plan to focus on the good I found in so many others throughout this journey.
This applies to those I've mentioned as well as my family and friends, who have helped support me through this unparalleled experience. The fact that after the dust has settled, I am able to see beyond the pain, beyond the grief, and beyond the baser nature of men, is a true testament to the fact that the extra mile one goes can make all the difference in the world to someone else. That extra step gave me the peace and solace I needed to heal. For that, I am forever thankful.
