I decided to wait a day after I learned of the verdict in the sentencing phase of the trial of Nikolas Cruz. Cruz was found guilty of opening fire on students and staff at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in the Miami suburban town of Parkland, Florida and murdering 17 people and injuring 17 others. The jury in the sentencing phase of the trial basically had two options: to sentence Cruz to life in prison without parole or to sentence him to be killed. The law required an unanimous vote for the death penalty to be imposed. In the end three jurors voted against the death penalty and Cruz was sentenced to life in prison.

I have waited to write about this for several reasons, mainly to give myself an opportunity to read about the reactions to those who are closer to the case than I. Even if I were living in that area, I would not have been selected as a juror in that case. I have strong and well-established opinions on the death penalty. I have been public in my views, including serving on the board of directors of South Dakotans for Alternatives to the Death Penalty. More importantly, I cannot speak for, nor can I fully understand the grief and trauma experienced by family members and friends of the victims. I do not in any way want to downplay their loss or tell them what they should think or feel.

I may, however, have a perspective that has not been given much publicity in the conversations surrounding the case.

One of the reasons I feel that life in prison is an appropriate sentence is that our society has sold the myth of closure to the families of victims of violent crimes. Reporters will write of justice being served. Unfortunately, there is no closure for those who have lost loved ones. The horror of the shootings will always be with those who lost children, siblings, and friends. There is nothing that can be done to change what has occurred. There is no known way to prevent the spread of the trauma to the next generation. From at least one perspective, justice is not possible. Those who lost loved ones have experienced an injustice that cannot be corrected. The death of the shooter will not ease their loss. It will not make things equal. It will not make things fair. Their loss is deeper and more tragic than anything that can happen to the shooter, including death.

A second reason why I favor life in prison is that a quick and painless death, which is what the courts have required in death penalty cases, is not necessarily a worse punishment than life in prison. The guilty person is gently and medically put to sleep and dies quietly after an extended period of appeals and public testimony about the case. Each appeal is a reminder to the families of the victims of the loss they have experienced. Each appeal brings additional publicity to the case that is likely read by people who are capable of considering carrying out a mass shooting. In some ways having to live out one’s life in confinement extends the punishment for the perpetrator. Cruz was 19 years old on Valentine’s Day in 2018, when he carried out the shootings. He could be facing 60 or 70 years of punishment for what he did. That period of punishment seems inadequate in comparison for the crimes committed, but it is longer than would be the case had he been sentenced to die.

My third reason is a bit different. After having spent years as a suicide first responder and seven years as a law enforcement chaplain, I have learned a lot from detectives and crime investigators. One thing that has been drilled into me is that anyone who comes into the scene of an unattended death needs to be extremely careful not to disturb or destroy evidence. Those who have experienced the loss of a loved one deserve as much information as possible about what happened. The more carefully evidence is preserved, the more answers might help to inform survivors about what happened to their loved one. Information is not the only thing these survivors need, but they have a right to the best and most accurate information possible. The death penalty is a process by which evidence is destroyed. We are incapable of understanding the mind of a mass shooter, but if there is any possibility that someone in the future might learn something about how to prevent such crimes by examination of the brain, tissues, DNA, or other information obtained from the shooter, we should preserve that evidence.

The debate about whether or not the death penalty serves as a deterrent for future crimes continues, but the evidence strongly points towards the conclusion that it does not deter such crimes. Many mass shooters seem to have a death wish, dying by suicide or exposing themselves to the bullets of law enforcement officers. The fear of dying as punishment for the crimes seems to not be a consideration in the planning of such events. The survival of a perpetrator of a mass shooting is rare. The trial of the Parkland shooter is an unusual event that is missing from the drama surrounding the majority of mass shootings.

This journal entry is not intended to change anyone’s mind about the death penalty. Nor is it intended to be the basis for public policy. It is simply my personal reflection on the depth of the tragedy that has been experienced by the parents, siblings, and friends of those who died and who were injured in the shooting and Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. They will live with their grief and trauma for the rest of their lives. Their children and grandchildren, if they have them, will be affected by generational trauma. The pain and tragedy inflicted by the shooter cannot be measured and should not be discounted. May they be spared excessive public attention and debate about their loss.