Stay Fierce
Welcome to We Win. Things Change.
You’re standing in the middle of the courtroom. It’s hot. You feel the perspiration start to bead a little on your temples. Your collar is starting to feel a bit damp too. You just spent the last 3 days picking a jury. You had to fight through countless objections and a judge that firmly believes jury selection should never take more than 3 hours no matter what the case. As deferential as you know you must be, you know too there is far too much at stake here for that.
You stand. You let the Court know you’re ready to proceed. “Ready your honor.” You walk toward the middle of a courtroom filled with people that until 3 days ago you’d never met. Standing there. You take your time. Looking at the jurors. One at a time. You take it in. Take them in too. Taking yourself back to that place to tell this story. Every fiber of your body singularly focused on telling this child’s story. Your story. A story that’s made you wonder why if there really is a God that this story ever have to be told at all. A God you hope will realize that it never needs be told again. A story you’ve worked years to tell. And now you’re here.
None of your actions deliberate now. From a deep place of caring for this family you have known for years. A family you now know well. You know too that no amount of money is going to enable this child to see or hear or talk again. To stand up. To walk. To know who or where she is. No amount is going to remove that feeding tube sticking through her skin and into her belly. Here you are though. Everything on the line. 30 years you’ve been doing this and it’s no easier than it was the very first time you did it. You know it’ll never be easy. There’s just too much at stake. You can hear your own heartbeat. You wonder whether the jurors can hear it too. You embrace your fear - scared to death at times that you won’t do well enough to win this case. Her case. Your case. Looking for the courage to get what some might call “justice” for this helpless child who did no more to deserve this than you or me.
You look over at her now. Leaning lifeless against the side of her wheelchair. Her head rolled back. Her lifeless eyes open. Fixed. Staring into space. Her long dark hair hanging from the back of her head toward the floor. Tubes coming out of her little body. You see the Drool from a corner of her mouth running down her face. You take that in too. Your heart is beating faster now. Ready to talk to your jurors now. With the courage that only comes with being scared to death in the first place.
You turn to the jury. Earnest. Real. Every fiber of your body singularly focused on telling her story. Your story. A calm, fierceness on your face they’ve never seen before now.
Stay fierce . . .
Until next time,
James Hugh Potts II
We Win. Things Change.