"Compassion for Killers"

Compassion—sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it—is not a concept usually coupled with killers. My self-image has always been of a good person, a kind person, a loving person. Yet when philosophical discussions turn to the death penalty and what is “right” regarding murderers’ sentencing, my gut feeling is one I seldom wish to admit to—if someone I loved was the victim, I would want revenge. My heart went out to the people of Oklahoma City, and I had nothing but contempt for McVeigh. When children die, the crime is most heinous. Therefore, for a mother to murder her child, in my way of feeling (as this is not a thinking issue I’m talking about—head and heart do not always match) should be the ultimate unforgivable act. However, with Andrea Yates’ drowning of her children, my reaction has been total compassion for the woman.

Yes, she is a killer. Yes, she did take the lives of five beautiful, innocent children. However, my heart and prayers go out to her in her pain, which led to the horrific act. Her husband’s comments in Newsweek left no doubt that his expectation was for her to be a stay-at-home mom and have as many children as possible and somehow “handle it.” He knew she had recently stopped her heavy anti-depression medicine and had asked his mother to come over during the day to help. This points to his awareness of her inability to meet his expectations. Her family stated that when they asked Andrea how she was, she would respond “fine” but didn’t appear to be. Why did no one see that she was on an irreversible edge?

Anna Quindlen’s Newsweek editorial “Playing God on No Sleep” (which I feel should be required reading for all females contemplating having sex or children) discussed the sense of inadequacy and fears experienced by many postpartum mothers. The current (7/23/01) issue’s letters to the editors showed an amazing response to the magazine’s sensitive coverage and Ms. Quindlen’s stance.

The most poignant was from a “Name Withheld” who, with the perfectly spaced, two-years-apart family, suffered massive postpartum depression and was vilified by her mother-in-law as a lazy, worthless human and a lousy mother and wife. With medical help, she survived the ordeal. However, two years later, after using several birth-control measures, she discovered she was again pregnant. She miscarried. Her ending comment, “I was sad, but after seeing Andrea Yates and imagining the horrible images she must relive every second, I feel I have been given a chance to avoid a very bad place.”

I was thirty-five when I had my only child, and living in a third-world country far from family—with no support groups. Books on pregnancy and birth were not readily available. Spiritual Midwifery was my bible, but did not exactly meld with the experience I was to have. The nurses at the hospital were wonderful, and although “holding the baby” after birth was not allowed, brought her to my waiting arms. Lyric’s posterior position and the pulling out of the placenta by the “on-call” doctor (mine was off-island) caused vaginal tearing and placental separation which resulted in my hemorrhaging. I lost five pints of blood and went into shock. An IV pumping saline into my arm kept me alive. This was discovered at 10pm—but it took until 10am to get my first transfusion. After three days, the hospital had managed to give me only three pints of blood, and wouldn’t let me keep my baby nearby. She refused to nurse when they allowed the occasional visit. I was panicky. I demanded to be released, and went home to our schooner. There, without telephone, family, or friends, my husband and I fell in love with our beautiful baby girl. In the first three weeks, crisis after crisis kept him dinghy-ing ashore to call the doctor—from impacted breasts to Lyric’s diarrhea and head-to-toe heat rash. A month later, I had to have a D&C to remove the missed placenta. A year later a visiting doctor/friend diagnosed anemia, which was causing my re-occurring breast infections. Later, I had to have corrective surgery to repair the damage done by the birth doctor.

But I was lucky. I adored and worshiped my baby completely. Nothing else mattered in the chain of events. I did not fall into the pits of depression; after the first three weeks I thought I was Supermom. However, the initial inadequacy I felt was something I never forgot. My mother has admitted to similar emotions. She was married seven years and worked as an accountant before the birth of her first child. They proceeded to have three children in three years. She said, “Once the baby machine was turned on we couldn’t shut it off.” She hated staying home. I was the youngest and, at less that five pounds, not expected to live. Her body suffered as a result of the pregnancies and required reparative surgery immediately after my birth. The doctor sterilized her since she could not safely have any more children. She says the only way she survived the three of us was to drink. Had she suffered PPD, I probably wouldn’t have made it through those first borderline months.

The most understanding letter in the Newsweek response came from a mother of three boys under four. She suggested we take action in our own community, whether it be offering an hour’s reprieve or picking up takeout for a mother with young children. Another letter, written by a black woman, suggested we realize those mothers in the ghetto who abuse their children be viewed with the same compassion, as they may also suffer from depression. It was an idea that had not occurred to me before.

Other letters condemned Mrs. Yates and Ms. Quindlen for not being “strong enough” and demeaning the role of the stay-at-home mother. The use of PPD as an “escape hatch” would be, in their opinion, whitewashing someone who is inherently evil and should not be given the smallest speck of forgiveness for this “darkest of human transgressions.”

I am not excusing Andrea Yates or her crime. Her ordeal has been an eye-opener for me on my own path to spiritual awakening. When we can open our hearts to the plight of one person, the crack exists to allow even more understanding. I have far to go on the path, but I have taken the first step. 

~ Gabrielle M. Thompson, 2001
© 2001 Gabrielle M. Thompson

Author’s note: I would like to thank those of you who wrote about your own experiences with Macular Degeneration. I have begun taking ICaps as a preventative supplement, along with C and E as my mother’s ophthalmologist suggested. She has taken this since her initial diagnosis, and it has slowed the damage to her eyes. 

Gabrielle Thompson lives with her husband Ed and daughter Lyric in the mountains of western North Carolina at Eco-Cove, a
117-acre wildlife sanctuary and trout farm. She has a degree in Anthropology, works in the library at the local community college,
and is a free-lance writer. Previously, she helped Ed build, sail, and charter the 75' schooner, SATORI, for 14 years in the Virgin
Islands. Gabrielle recently finished a novel, Adventures in Paradise. "...keep me in your thoughts & prayers until I get an agent & book deal!"