Fight or Flight…

Fear can be downright crippling. Some people avoid fear at all costs. “No, I won’t walk down that street- it’s unfamiliar, dark, not the safest neighborhood… I’ll go the safer route.” The safer route, oh the proverbial “safer route.” I’m certainly not encouraging dangerous behaviors, but I am encouraging a step OUT of your comfort zone. A step away from the safe route, into the great unknown, where anything- absolutely anything is possible. Learn to harness your fear and use it to propel you forward…

Seven years ago, on a sparkling spring day in a northwestern New Jersey suburb, I walked with a skip in my step from a busy grocery store to my big Jersey-Mom SUV. I popped the tailgate, loaded my bags, grabbed a banana from one of them to munch on the ride home. I was famished! I had weighed in earlier that morning at the my weight loss meeting- I was down 17 pounds! Yahoo! A perfect day!

I climbed into the driver seat of my vehicle, leaning over to let my purse strap slip off and the bag fall onto the passenger seat. I dropped the banana in the coffee cup holder in the center console, righted myself to start the engine and pull the door shut (I had left my leg dangling out behind me…) but now there was a man standing there….

“Oh! Hi!?!” I said cheerfully but inquiringly. (He must know me to be this close to me). He didn’t say anything. “Do I know you?” I asked, again smiling, not wanting to insult him- I HAD to know this guy, who was he? What one of my kid’s sports teams was he from- he’s got to be someone’s dad or coach? And what on earth is he wearing??? An Angry Birds tee shirt what adult man would…

“Hi. Give me your rings.” he says, kindly, with a little smirk on his face, interrupting my train of thought about his apparel choice.

“Wait, what?” Back to reality. What did he say?

“Give me your rings.” A bit more serious this time.

“I’m sorry I think you mistook me for someone else…” I tried to get my arm around him to reach the handle and close the door.

“Give me your rings, or I will kill you.”

And then I saw it. Splayed in his hand was a dull black hand gun.

I looked him right in the face (he was wearing very dark sunglasses and a hooded zip sweatshirt over that interesting tee) he said it again. Time came to a screeching halt. Was I scared? Absolutely. I knew I had to rise above the fear or it would not end well.

Somehow, someway, I managed to divert that fear into anger. I’m not sure if this is something I’ve learned or something I just do- it’s kind of like a code situation in the hospital. If you panic, your patient has zero chance. You need to find your inner calm, remember what you have been trained to do and execute to save that life. I essentially switched into that mode for myself here, using anger as my code cart of life saving pharmaceuticals and medical devices.

I looked away from him as my brain slowly began to process again just what it was that was happening. I was in disbelief. looked up, through my windshield. The sun was still sparkling, not just shining, truly sparkling. People were all around us, talking, laughing, loading groceries in their cars. But nobody was paying any attention to what was happening. Wait- how could they know? We’ve been very quiet! I need to yell, scream!

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! DOES ANYBODY SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING? SOMEONE! SOMEONE HELP!!!! HE’S GOT A GUN!!!!!” No one saw, no one stopped what they were doing. I think only one person might have heard me, a gentleman loading his groceries a car away, in front of me… he stopped, looked up like he heard something in the wind, paused for a split second, then resumed his task at hand. My heart sunk a bit. Any help I was getting was going to have to come from me. It dawned on me at that moment that this could be the day I die. I might not go home today. That thought made me even more angry (which was probably fear, but in that moment was expressing as anger). I had worked too far too hard at life so far to go out like this. There was so much more living I had to do. I was not ready to die. Not yet, not today, not like this, at the hands of a guy like this.

I took another deep breath to yell again, but apparently I didn’t really think about what HIS reaction would be to this. Not good. Things began to escalate a bit. “Shut up!” he scolded, nudging me in the side with the gun. He grabbed for my rings, I gripped the steering wheel, where my hands had been resting. I gripped tightly, and did not let go.

My heart was beating so hard in my chest. I was so angry. What gave this man the right to get this close to me? (By this point he was up against my thigh, reaching into the vehicle, trying to pry my hands off the steering wheel with one hand while holding the gun on me with the other). Why did he think it was acceptable to remove from my finger such a sentimental piece of jewelry? I began to bargain with him telling him to take other pieces of jewelry instead of the engagement and wedding ring he was pulling on. He wanted no part of that. He wanted those rings.

The struggle ensued for a few more seconds, that felt like an eternity. The harder we fought the more his grip on the gun wavered. It had started at my side, pointed towards my belly, I triaged it as somewhat unimportant. If it discharged, I would be injured of course, but it would be totally treatable. I could live without parts of my bowels- as long as I didn’t bleed out before I reached the hospital- and we were only about 8 miles from a level 1 trauma center, I’d be in highly capable hands pretty quickly.

The longer we struggled the angrier we both seemed to be getting. My grip was iron clad. He was getting nervous- I don’t think he wanted to be here this long. The gun was rising, lower rib cage- hopefully I’d only loose one lung…

Rising still… ugh. Tougher territory. But, the likelihood of him getting a clean shot to the heart is not in his favor. Doesn’t he know how hard my husband worked to pay for this ring??? NOT LETTING GO!

Up a bit more… neck now. Both of us sweating. He’s so close I feel his breath on my cheek. If that thing goes off we’re talking potential spinal cord injuries, nerve injuries, tracheal injuries, potentially a vegetative state… if I survive it at all. My husband would absolutely kill me if I get myself killed in the grocery store parking lot- over a ring- and leave him to raise our four kids alone. I’d better let go. (Mind you, all of this is happening in my head in milliseconds… nuts!) So, I. Let. Go.

He wasn’t expecting that. He stumbled backward and pulled that ring off my finger with such force he tore the skin on my finger with the edge of the diamond as it trailed away. (I didn’t feel that or even realize it happened until a police detective asked me later about the cut… talk about an adrenaline rush!)

He looked at me, gathered his footing, shoved the gun in one pocket, ring in his fist in the other, turned his back to me and began to walk away. I immediately began yelling again, at the top of my lungs! He turned around, whipped the gun from his pocket, pointed it directly at my chest and angrily declaired…

“Shut up. Or I will kill you.”

I jumped back into my vehicle, slammed the door shut, locked the door (now I lock the door?!?!?) and looked for my cell phone. Where was my cell? Found it. Bottom of my purse, where else! I called 911, as I called I somehow reagained my courage. I popped out of the car again to see where he went… he was walking away still, hood up on his sweatshirt so he had no peripheral vision, I got closer, saw him get into a car.

The 911 operator picks up, I’m not even sure I gave him time to say hello- I started spewing information… color, make and model of the car, license plate number (it ended up being just a partial plate number, but enough!), his description, and what had happened… and oh yeah… where I was. A few seconds later a single patrol car and officer arrived, a few more seconds and the cavalry arrived.

I learned from the detective on the scene then that this man had approached two other women in the two days prior, and was getting bolder with each encounter. They had been looking for him, when I called 911 with my description they knew it was him again…

He asked me if I needed to call someone, my husband perhaps? “Oh yes, absolutely, as well as a friend to pick my preschoolers up,” I explain. I call my friend and the preschool to let them know I was held-up at the grocery store. They weren’t alarmed, both said “OK, no problem, take your time, got you covered!” What? Whatever they are smoking, I need some of that for certain…. (Later when they found out what had happened they were shocked and couldn’t believe it- I told them I had clearly told them what happened! Go figure! lol)

I call my husband. Sigh. I know he’s going to go nuts. I’d go nuts if it were the reverse. Here we go. I get a few words out, already he has a million questions, and rightly so, then the detective comes rushing over- takes the phone from me abruptly. “Mr. Trezza, I’m sorry, we need to go. We think we have him. We need to take your wife to identify him.”

Wait, what? I’m whisked away (I had been sitting in the front passenger seat of the first patrol officer on the scene’s cruiser). Into a big black SUV with blacked out windows- FBI style, with two detectives, and a few other police vehicles in parade with us. As we swiftly moved down our local highway, I immediately noticed the very high police presence. We traveled through three townships before stopping- but I saw many more than three townships police forces on the highway. Many towns were out in full force. Our parade of vehicles begins to slow as we reach a gas station that is FILLED with police vehicles of all shapes and sizes and one car, THE car.

Up against the hood of one of the police cars, hands behind him in cuffs, is the Angry Birds Shirt. I saw that first, again. Then I looked at his face. No sunglasses this- time, but unmistakable. That was him.

After confirming it with me they put him in the cruiser and took him away. Once they drove off, I asked to use the ladies room- that was the end of being strong.

The rest of that beautiful, sparkling spring day I spent at the police headquarters. Giving my statement, being recorded, photographed… that was when the detective noticed the cut on my hand.

My husband joined me there, he was devastated, felt helpless and just wanted to make this right. He asked if they found the ring on him. No- he told them he threw it out the window as he was being pulled over. What they did find in the car- the gun- and guess what? It was a replica. I didn’t understand what that meant- it simply meant it was fake. He robbed me with a fake gun. I gave that man my ring and he had a fake gun? Now I was even more angry. I almost blew my lid. The detective tried to soothe me, explaining that it didn’t mean he wouldn’t have harmed me in another way- it was still a dangerous situation and I did the right thing. It certainly didn’t feel like it at that moment.

As the months wore on, legal proceedings began and stretched on for three long years. About four months after the incident, we received a call from the prosecutor’s office- they found the ring! (During the struggle, he only managed to get away with my engagement ring, the wedding band was left behind on my finger.) As the story goes, when he knew he was being pulled over, he popped my ring in his mouth and swallowed it. He passed in while in jail. hid it in his cell. He waited until he had enough paper, and then, Shaw Shank Redemption-style, he carved a space in the papers, and tried to pass that stack of papers to his girlfriend through the visitation window when she came to visit him. A corrections officer discovered the ring upon inspecting the papers, he of course flipped his lid and threatened to find the corrections officer and burn his house down. Super. Add a few years onto that potential sentence for threatening and officer!

Despite being found with the ring, openly admitting to the arresting officer that he “couldn’t believe that B*#ch fought back!” the day of the incident and few other key pieces, he plead not guilty. Time dragged on….

Then, another phone call. There was a deal on the table. Defense was willing to accept it, change the plea to guilty and be done. Whoa.

That fast. It was over. I wrote my victim impact statement. I went to court on the sentencing day, I stood tall. I looked him right in the eye and I forgave him. I challenged him to become a better man, to rise to be the best version of himself he can be. To clean up his act, to make his mother proud. He cried through my entire statement, like a small child.

The judge showed little mercy. He was sentenced to 20 years, eligible for parole after 85% of the sentence is served. Harsh for a case where not even a real weapon was used? No. Appropriate for a man who showed little remorse until it was time to save his own tail, and is a repeat offender.

I pray he leaves prison a changed man, I know there is a decent soul in there, the tears told me so.

What about that fear? The fear I experienced that day changed the way I look at just about everything. It took a long time to understand the changes, the mind is a tricky place.

Now I look at fear with not exactly comfort, but acceptance- fear for me has become a place to find growth. I don’t intentionally seek it, but when I feel it in my gut, I know I’m on to something… If we don’t push ourselves into places we fear, we will never know what we are fully capable of.

They say you never know what you’ll do, until you staring down the barrel of a gun. Real or perceived, that is the truth. The pressure fear places on an individual forces real, organic choices that come from the heart.

In the instance of my robbery- I chose life and love over the symbol, the ring, the material object. I often wonder how differently it could have ended “if I had only done this” or “that.” But there aren’t many times we get do-overs in life. One and done.

Moral of the story, even our darkest days, even our most frightening situations provide opportunities to grow and shine.

Let the fear fuel your ambition, fuel your fire.

Dare to be courageous. Life rewards courage.

Be Well

-Laurie