Closing my eyes, experiencing a Texas execution

There are times when I find myself thinking of him. Sometimes I see him in my dreams, or maybe when I am at the grocery store and I see a man that looks like him, will stir up memories of that day. If I hear his name, it brings me back to that day. Even seeing white sheets or hearing someone snore, brings those feelings back.

The night I saw Ricky Lewis die left me feeling numb inside. My job that day was to write about what was going to happen to him and witness his death. He was scheduled to die by lethal injection and after more than two decades on death row, April 9 was the day he would leave this earth.

I volunteered to cover his execution. The paper I worked for, The Huntsville Item is the paper of record and someone has to be there as witnesses. I do admit, one of the reasons I wanted to work at that paper was to cover an execution. Not to say that I wanted to see people die, but as a reporter you get to do and experience things that not many people in the world ever get to do. An execution is not something that many reporters get to experience.

The best part about being a reporter is having to cover many different types of events. My favorite are those that inspire me and leave me with a sense of accomplishment. I was a part of something because I was a reporter. 

I have covered a drowning, interviewed people that have lost loved ones and even wrote about a man who decided to shoot and kill his entire family.

No, what I was about to witness, was nothing compared to any of those other things I have written about.

Crossing the street to the prison with the public information officer and the AP reporter was the point of no return. Clinching to my reporter notebook and my pen, I tried to keep my calm. But i knew what was going to happen. Protesters stood at the end of the street, some with protest signs, a woman talking using a megaphone.

"Media crossing the street, this means they are about to execute Ricky Lewis..."

Once at the prison, the AP reporter went with the family of the victims, our paper went with the family of the one being executed.

A crying woman, who was Lewis's friend waited with us. She kept looking around, and apologizing for what we were about to experience. I wasn't allowed to talk to her, instead kept looking at her and hoped that she knew I couldn't talk to her.

Family is escorted first to the death chamber, media follows next. After walking through what felt like a very long hallway, we exited and walked into a beautiful garden. I saw blooming flowers, heard birds chirping. I had forgotten for a second where it was that I was heading and what I was about to experience.

Once inside, I saw him laying in a bed, covered in a white thin sheet and secured. His head was the only thing that was uncovered. A microphone hung from the ceiling, his family and friends leaning on the glass window. The friends that were there, calling out his name, looking at him, crying for him.

I was in the back, against the wall, trying to look at what going on.

Once he was allowed to say his last words, they injected him. "It's burning...It's burning.." He kept saying. A second later he began to snore. He snored six times before the entire room went silent. The only sound was his friend crying for him.

After his death, we all stood there, waiting and not saying a word.

Trying to understand what had just happened, was put aside. I put my energy at trying to listen to the family. Was there something they would say to use  in my article? 

I wanted to focus on something else, I wanted to forget that I had just seen a man die and there was nothing that I could have done.

Our instincts as humans is to help someone that is in need of help. And that day, I couldn't do anything. He had been sentenced to death and I was there to witness.

A few minutes later, he was still lying in the bed. 

We waited for what seemed an eternity. But it was only about 18 minutes.

A doctor came over, checked his vitals and pulled the white sheet to cover his face. He was declared dead.

We all walked out the same way we came in and we were once again greeted by the beautiful garden. Once outside the building, the same lady stood at the end of the street with her megaphone. She was against death penalty and agry Texas had once again executed someone.

Once I got what I needed for my article, I walked to my car and got inside. I couldn't get myself to feel anything. I had to focus and all I could think of is writing that article. I turned on the engine and "Don't you forget about me" by Tears For Fears started playing on the radio. I couldn't help but notice the irony of the song.

I drove off. 

As I listened to the song, tears ran down my face. I had just witnessed a man die. How can I handle that? What do I do?

Soon after I was in the newsroom writing the article. I had to focus, finish and leave the office. But the last thing I wanted was to be alone.

I didn't leave the newsroom until after 11 p.m. that night and once at my apartment, stayed up until my eyes could no longer stay open.

For the next couple of days, I couldn't close my eyes without thinking of him. I couldn't close my eyes and not see the fear in his eyes. I couldn't close my eyes without feeling fear. It was an emotion that even now I cannot explain.

April 9 will always stay with me. It's hard to believe this happened just a month ago. It has taken a while for me to actually close my eyes without thinking of him or knowing that I saw him die. It has taken all this time to actually face this and writing about it. 

There's always an interview or a story that stays with you, for me, it will always be Ricky Lewis.