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    Brian Klein

    We are extremely glad you have taken the time to see what we are about. Our entire project is funded 100% through viewers like yourself. Individuals that have taken time from their day to see what we have to offer. As you may already know our goal is simple; to share the human experience, to become enlightened through all of our adversity, and to see what knowledge we can share with you in hopes of helping us all collectively grow through the shared experience and journey we all share; life. This project is a daunting one. Without the help of individuals who are willing to go above and make that sacrifice, this would not be possible. Thank you for believing in us. Thank you for showing your support.

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    • [ This show is in Progress. ] However, you can still post your thoughts on the particular subject that has been presented here. Comments made after the show might still be read on the next current show, as we review daily. Comments made during the show will be read on air. Humanastory! Listen Live Presents - Coffee With Humanastory Hosts: Brian Klein / Co-Hosts: Kristina Klein, Marilyn Sly
      Runtime: IN PROGRESS SP Guest: None "Coffee with Humanastory!", is the official Humanastory Live shows involving a no scripted conversation and interaction with our humanastorians. Theme of the day: Fantastic Friday 040 / Moral Obligations. Question of the day: Should the disabled have the same moral obligation as the healthy to contribute to society? What are your thoughts on Law and Society? You can download the full audio: Here. Please Note: Hosts and Co-Hosts may use this main thread to answer this shows official questions. If you have some information to provide and want it done so, live; present your information below. Editorial Notes: Happy Thoughts! Live, Love, Laugh (A Lot) Today's Show Minutes From Last Show On This Day Current Events Comment Read Traveling With Humanastory Tidbits Image of the Day  Polls Thoughts on our Question of the Day Submitted Story Thoughts on Story Miscellaneous Source Links: 2018 Medicaid Guidelines | http://washex.am/2CSjCP1 Best Friend Ban | Tucker Carlson (FOX News) | http://bit.ly/2r0TCze Best Friend Ban | Business Insider | http://read.bi/2qTGXxW Adam Kokesh Arrested | http://bit.ly/2mW8Jp7 Adam Kokesh Update | http://bit.ly/2BggdaN UFO News | Tucker Carlson - Fox News | http://bit.ly/2BeX0GI Minutes From Last Show: CWH Episode 81 | https://community.humanastory.com/topic/730-e081-ethical-morality/ On This Day | JAN 011th 1813 1st pineapples planted in Hawaii. 1838 First public demonstration of telegraph message sent using dots & dashes at Speedwell Ironworks, Morristown, New Jersey by Samuel Morse and Alfred Vail. 1964 1st government report warning by US Surgeon General Luther Terry that smoking may be hazardous. Current Event: Current Event Information Our Comment Read: Comments are taken from across the website and any of our social media outlets  Traveling With Humanastory We await a submission to explore. Humanastory Tantalizing Tidbits of Information: (Tweet us yours @humanastory) Tidbit Humanastory Polls: Current Poll Goes Here Image of the Day: Submitted Story: The Other Foot | Story Submission | https://community.humanastory.com/topic/731-the-other-foot/ Thanks and Credits: Michael John Doug Clevinger We're 100% Funded by listeners like you consider pledging or contributing a one time contribution: Support Humanastory, keep us strong by clicking here.
    • When we were told that our daughter had been murdered, it was just such an unbelievable thing. I stood there in shock, watching the color drain from my husband’s face. We had shared so many happy times together, and our son-in-law was not the violent type. We flew to Florida and brought our two young granddaughters back to Augusta for the funeral. We never asked the children anything but one of them said, “daddy hit mommy.” The prosecutor described it as a crime of passion, and assured us he’d call the minute Eugene went before the judge, but we heard nothing. Six months later we discovered that Eugene had been sentenced to just one year probation and was back home looking after the children. His mother had money and had used her influence to help him. I don’t resent her – if I had money I would have done the same for my son. I tried to stay in contact with my granddaughters, but my letters and presents were never acknowledged. Finally, after 18 years, I went to Florida to visit them. I must say, Eugene had done a good job in raising them and it was an extremely happy occasion, but sadly I never heard from them again after that. Joyce’s death broke us as a family. My husband, like my older son Roy, never talked about it, while I became totally wrapped up in my own little woven nest. My younger son Jerry was the most hurt. “Mother,” he said, “if you’d taken me to Florida I would have killed Eugene, because he killed a part of me”. Jerry had been happily married for 17 years when he decided he’d fallen in love with a 22-year-old girl. His wife was heartbroken, and I was upset and angry, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He got a divorce and married the girl, but things didn’t work out and when they ran into financial difficulties his new wife walked out on him. Alone and with no money, he moved in with a boy who took drugs and had a record as long as your arm. One day Jerry came to my work. We said hello but I was still angry and didn’t ask if he wanted to talk. I thought, “If you’re going through a hard time, then good, because now you’re being punished for what you did.” To this day I’ll never forgive myself for not reaching out to him. A few days later Jerry took a gun and went with his friend to a convenience store where he shot a man dead. I’ll never know why he did it, but I’m certain he was thinking of his brother-in-law when he pulled the trigger. The following day, the two of them went to visit their roof contractor boss and Jerry’s friend shot and killed the poor man. After that Jerry alerted the police. He told me later, “I was very much afraid the killing would have continued”. My son strongly regretted what he’d done and felt he deserved to die, but when he called from prison to say he’d been served his execution date, I just about lost it. I was glad my husband was now no longer alive: he couldn’t have borne the pain. Jerry didn’t want me to witness the execution but I fought tooth and nail to be there. I couldn’t let him die in front of a room full of strangers. There were just two of us watching – myself and a relative of the roof contractor. The wife of Jerry’s victim wasn’t there, and I would say she’s the most sympathetic person I’ve ever known. She never publicly denounced what my son did, nor did she ever call for his execution. Just before the lethal injection, Jerry turned to take a good long look at me and then blew me a kiss. After that he closed his eyes and I watched the blood drain from his face. I don’t know what could be harder than watching your son die like that. A mother does not see a 30, 40, 50-year-old man strapped to that cross-like gurney. She sees the child she gave birth to, the child that in her eyes never grew up. I deeply resent a government that kills its own citizens – its own children. It still feels so raw and so painful, and yet I feel no hatred or blame – neither for Eugene nor for those who killed my son. My anger is entirely directed towards myself for turning my back on my son when he needed me most. - Celia McWee (Laid to Rest; February 14th, 2011)
    • The impetus to learn about my mother’s killer came from a virtual stranger. My husband and I were attending a meeting at a church when the head of a prison ministry stood up and spoke about his work at a local men’s prison. I couldn’t help but secretly characterize him as a holy roller as he paced back and forth, carrying his small worn Bible and speaking of the positive impact forgiveness could have on prisoners’ lives. While I believed that forgiveness was generally a good thing, I had never considered forgiving the man who killed my mother. That brand of forgiveness was for extremists who went on Oprah. In fact, I strongly supported the death penalty, silently bitter that my mother’s killer had only received a life sentence. After all, he had put her through hell. He’d held her at gunpoint while she gave him all of the money from the register and then, backing out of the store, fired a shot that hit her in the chest. She died within minutes in the arms of a co-worker. Two days later, her killer was apprehended, driving a stolen car. He was sentenced to life without parole at Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana. I was a freshman at College in Georgia, brought home for the funeral, half out of my mind and deep in shock. Now, years later, the prison minister had tapped a deep vein. I began to wonder, could I ever forgive the man who had irrevocably changed the course of my life? Having been spared the horror of the trial, I now wanted to know about this person who had killed my mother, so I researched the crime like it was a job assignment. I placed all my notes into a special folder, slowly developing a detailed mental profile of my mother’s killer, Nathan Wolfe. All the while, I continued to be confused about this question of forgiveness, until one afternoon when I was casually leafing through my folder and a piece of paper fell out. It was the telephone number of the chaplain’s office at Angola State Penitentiary. I decided to dial the number. The phone was answered by Father Damereaux who asked me how he could help. I told him that I was trying very hard to find a way to forgive the man who killed my mother. “I also want to find out what happened that night and whether he feels any remorse,” I said. “Does it make a difference if he feels remorse?”, asked Father Damereaux. I really didn’t know the answer to this. It would obviously be so much easier to forgive someone who showed remorse, but somehow I felt that shouldn’t drive my decision. Father Damereaux offered to serve as a mediator and suggested he could personally deliver a message from me. He asked me to tell him exactly what to say. I thought for a second and then with a sudden burst of unexpected clarity, I said, “Please tell him the daughter of the woman he killed in 1980 wishes to forgive him and would like to know if he has anything to say in return?” Father Damereaux said he’d need a week to get the message to Nathan and asked me to call him the following Friday. When I hung up the phone I felt desperate, totally unsure of what I’d done. What if he was released and came after my family? What if I wasn’t really ready to forgive? The following Friday I called Father Damereaux. He described how, after locating Nathan in Camp A, a minimum-security area, he’d gone to see him to deliver my message. “As you might imagine, after twenty years he was very taken aback…in fact he was speechless,” said Father Damereaux. “After a few moments, he said he needed time to think about it, so I told him I’d be back in a few days.” Father Damereaux then explained how the following Wednesday he’d gone to Camp A to give his usual service when he saw Nathan sitting at the back of the room. “After I finished, we spoke,” he said. “But before I tell you what he said, I need to tell you that Nathan is dying. I believe he has cancer.” Of all the scenarios I’d imagined, it never crossed my mind that I’d be forgiving a dying man. Trembling, the tears streamed down my cheeks and I realized for the first time since 1980, I felt at peace. I had nothing left to fear. “Nathan wishes me to convey how grateful he is for your forgiveness,” continued Father Damereaux. “He said he’s turning his life over to God and preparing for the end. He also asked me to tell you how deeply sorry he is for what he did. He said that he could never make an excuse for it, but that it was a very bad time in his life, that he never intended to kill anyone, that he was out of his mind on drugs. He asked you to convey his deepest regrets to the rest of your family.” I thanked Father Damereaux and hung up. Sitting at my desk, tears of relief, sadness, gratitude and closure began to flow. Then, as if a window had been opened, a cold air blew in and I felt my mother sitting next to me for the first time since she died. She was right next to me, with her arms wrapped around me. Two days after Christmas, a thin white envelope with blue lettering arrived from Angola State Penitentiary. It read, Notice of Release             Pursuant of Department regulation, this office is required to notify you of Nathan Wolfe’s release. He expired on December 23, 2000. I stood, holding the letter to my chest, thinking about the word “release”. We both had been set free. So many years of grieving my mother. How strange now to grieve her killer, for the life he never had, the bad choices he made and the love he probably never felt. - Stephanie Cassatly
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