Tag Archive | murder

Retrospect ~

Sometimes I still catch myself thinking about it, unexpectedly.  Unwarranted and unwanted.  But there it is, so I indulge in the thoughts of that murder that happened so long ago, and the events that I and my family were inadvertently, subsequently dragged into as a result.  It seems so long ago, 1991 when Sabina was murdered, and our involvement brought to the surface in October 2005 ~ 8 years ago now.  And I still find myself dwelling on the known facts versus my unreliable memory of the events of that night in 1991 when it all exploded into our lives.

Certain things I can remember vividly and am sure of, but many of the things that “count” are just foggy still.  I try to focus on that night in 1991, playing it over and over in my mind the way I remember it.  Then I try to tack in the things that the sheriff’s department said happened, or the way they “think” things happened.  So much does not make sense, and I wonder if it ever will.  The only person who can confirm or deny the events that I remember is dead.  When I was questioned for hours by the Cayuga County sheriff’s department in 2005, I could not tell them any more then than I can remember now.  They actually tried to “console” me into “confessing” that I knew and perhaps was a part of the murder of Sabina Kulakowski.  They said they knew that Barry had been abusive, and that perhaps he was threatening me to keep quiet or he would hurt me or the children.  They said they understood if I had been “quiet” because he was blackmailing me.  But now he was dead, having taken his own life… so now it was okay for me to “come clean”, that he could never hurt me or the kids again.  During the questioning, it took awhile for it to sink it.  They thought I was withholding evidence of the crime.  Their at first gentle questioning turned into badgering after several hours.  And I began to understand how innocent people simply confess to crimes they did not commit.  But I was not about to “confess” to knowing anything more than I knew… which was little.

The man who was wrongly convicted of Sabina’s murder has finally been set free in 2005, thanks in part to my and my daughter, Katie’s, involvement and DNA testing etc.  The circumstantial evidence points to the man that I had been living with for 13 years, and had two children with, as the murderer.  He has allegedly committed this horrific murder during the time we were living together as a family.  I was supposedly the first person to see him and be with him just minutes after this awful crime had been committed.  Yet I remember nothing out of the ordinary about that time spent together before we went to bed for the night.  I think THAT’S the piece that bothers me the most.  Wouldn’t I have seen SOMETHING?  Shouldn’t he have been covered in blood and/or been stressed or nervous and anxious about the things he had just allegedly done?  (I didn’t find out until 2005 the specifics of the crimes committed with regard to Sabina, who had been my “sister-in-law” for a decade +)  I saw no signs of anything amiss, except an eagerness to put the fight we’d had earlier in the evening behind us, and get to bed and get to sleep.  It was obvious he had been drinking, which was also not unusual.

When I later learned about the details of how she had died, it made me cry.  She had been subjected to horrific  violence before the farm was set ablaze and she was carried out of the house and dumped across the street in a wooded area.  One of the tell-tale signs for me that it could’ve been Barry that had committed the crime, was the fact that Sabina had been bitten multiple times.  He was known for using this tactic to subdue women ~ at least one woman that I knew of.  And he was the only one who had ever used such a violent and painful method.  To me, this was significant.  Also to the sheriffs when I brought the coincidence to light.  For someone to have committed these crimes, it seems they would have been openly, noticeably sociopathic.   Granted, Barry had his “issues”, but I could not wrap my brain around him committing ruthless murder.  Not to mention that we continued to co-habit for six years after this crime was committed.

The fact that he committed suicide right before he was about to be accused/disclosed by the “wrongly-accused” inmate is way more than just a coincidence in my book.  But again, also circumstantial.  I guess there are way more many questions yet to be answered and will remain unanswered for this case to ever be truly “Closed”.  And yet I can never forget that part of my questionable life.  I can only be thankful that we got through it in one piece, more of less, and out the other side much for the better.

There has been a lot of publicity about this case, especially in 2005 when we were brought into it.  There has been a movie made, locally, and clips on some national shows.  If you want to know more about this part of my life, click on this link, or Google “Roy Brown” or “Barry Bench”.  I still find it fascinating myself!

Thanks for stopping in and checking out my Random Thoughts tonight.  Until next time, TTFN ~ Tamara Eckstadt

How about a nice picture for fall before I go?  Enjoy!

Church steeple, Long Lake, NY

Church steeple, Long Lake, NY


Revealed Chapter 10: “May You Reach and Find God Before God Reaches and Finds You”

In October of 2005, I received an unsolicited phone call from a private investigator who said he wanted to talk to me about “something I would be interested in.” 

 *Please keep in mind, that in 1998 I married my soul mate, became a Christian and we were living a  fantastic life together, finally.   And in this chapter, I need to go a little ahead to go backwards.  You’ll see what I mean as you read*

 So, when I received this unusual phone call, at first I chalked it up to being a prank, maybe.  At any rate, I was not truly interested in meeting with this mystery investigator, and at first I put him off.  However, he continued to call. When I told my husband, Al, about it, we both decided we would go ahead with this “meeting”, but that Al would have to be present.  So we made the arrangements, and the PI would come to our home and talk to both of us.

 When he showed up, after exchanging pleasantries and introductions, we sat down in our family room and I curiously waited what it was he had to say.  He began by asking me if I knew of a man by the name of Roy Brown.  I thought for a few seconds, then answered “no”.  He went on to explain that Roy Brown was doing time in Elmira State Correctional for a murder that he did not commit.  I immediately wondered what on earth this could possibly have to do with me.  The investigator further continued to explain the circumstances and my involvement in Roy Brown’s attempt at exoneration.  I think, when his story began to sink in, that I went into shock for a few seconds…. and I began to cry.

 This story is quite complicated, but the gist of it is:  in 1991, my common-law sister-in-law, Sabina Kulakowski, was murdered at the BB family farm in Aurelius, NY.  This woman was BB’s brother’s common-law wife… got that?  For all intents and purposes, she was my sister-in-law.  The murder was particularly gruesome and received huge media attention at the time, and they arrested and brought to trial this Roy Brown for the murder.  He was convicted and sent to prison.  However, Mr. Brown has consistently maintained his innocence (don’t they all?) throughout his 12 years behind bars, and had been desperately trying to prove his innocence all this time ~ per the private investigator ~ without success.  Well, Mr. Brown convinced the infamous “Innocence Project” to help him, and that’s when they began in earnest to try to track me down and bring me into the fray.  Mr. Brown, and now with the help of attorneys from the Innocence Project, had come across evidence that seemed to point the finger at BB as the potential murderer, and not Roy Brown. The timeline from 1991 when the murder was committed, puts BB and me domestically “together” at the time.

This investigation would put me in the center of an increasingly urgent appeal.  Mr. Brown was critically ill and in danger of dying due to liver problems and eventually failure.  He needed to be exonerated, if possible, in order to get out of prison and have the lifesaving liver transplant needed to survive. If he has unsuccessful, he would die in prison, innocent or guilty.  An additional complication was the fact that BB had committed suicide on December 29, 2003.  So, without the primary suspect available to be questioned, the Innocence Project was literally piecing a puzzle together, that included DNA testing that would prove or disprove the murderer.

 Over the course of the next year or so, my family and I would receive requests for interviews from attorneys, sheriffs, district attorneys, television and magazines as the saga wore on and we would eventually find out if BB was, indeed, a murderer.

 “Sabina had been beaten, bitten, stabbed and strangled.”

 On May 23, 1991, BB and I were in the midst of our own battle, yet again.  It was a particularly brutal fight that started in the afternoon and continued on through the evening.  The kids, in their infinite wisdom, had known early on to keep to themselves upstairs until it was over.  I don’t remember exactly what started it this time, but know that it was particularly heated and became physical.  I was throwing BB out of the house for a change, rather than me taking the kids and leaving, and he wasn’t going without a fight, and every dime of cash that I had in my purse.  He had taken all of his things (mostly just clothing, but also a fire department call monitor) and had packed everything into his car, and it looked like he would be voluntarily leaving.  When he returned to the house for whatever reason, one last time, he decided that he would ransack my purse and take whatever funds I would hold inside for himself.  His audacity never ceased to amaze and infuriate me, so the argument and then the physical fight ensued.  Somehow we ended up in the kitchen, each pulling at my purse with all our might trying to take it from the other.  When I saw that I may lose that battle, in an instant I grabbed for the nearest weapon I could find that might give me an upper hand against this 6’4″ aggressor.  I found myself swiping at him with a large butcher’s knife that I had pulled from the counter.  Fortunately or not, I missed the connection and he (after he got over the surprise) decided to quickly take his leave without my purse contents.  He ran out of the house and took off around 8 pm.  I didn’t care if I ever heard from him again!

A photo I took of BB in the mid-90’s. This was used in most of the media coverage.

“When it comes to DNA testing, there’s no mistakes. DNA is GOD’s creation and GOD makes no mistakes.”  Roy Brown

In helping Mr. Brown find the truth about the real killer of Sabina Kulakowski, my daughter (and BB’s) Katie, was asked if she would submit a sample of her DNA to be compared with the tee shirt evidence found near the crime scene.  By this time, of course, Katie and I were totally on board to help in any way get to the bottom of this issue.  BB was already gone, having committed suicide, so there was no reason not to cooperate and help clear a potentially innocent man after he’d already spent 15 years wrongfully imprisoned.  By now, we had been pretty involved in the exoneration portion of the case.  I had been questioned extensively over the course of two full days by the Cayuga County Sheriff’s department.  Evidently, for some reason, they were of the opinion that I “knew something” and wasn’t telling.  I was coached for hours and pressed to tell the truth because “it was okay now”, and they wouldn’t hold anything against me if I just told the truth.  Thing is, I had nothing to tell.  I remembered that night pretty well, and, if what they were saying was true, I would’ve been the first person to see BB after he would’ve committed the gruesome, horrific murder just a few miles from our home.  I remember seeing him, and there were no telltale signs of anything amiss.  He was calm, even after the horrendous fight we’d had earlier in the evening.  I don’t recall anything unusual about his clothing… there was no blood, he wasn’t disheveled.  Based on what I recall that I saw that night, I wouldn’t have thought he could’ve committed a murder.  Yet, the DNA definitely proved otherwise.  But, until 2005, I didn’t have a clue that anything was out of the ordinary.  Which meant, my family and I continued to live with a murderer from 1991 to 1998 ~ 7 years. 

Me and my daughter, Katie in 2005 (courtesy of the NY Times). Katie would be instrumental in helping in the exoneration by voluntarily submitting to DNA testing that would later prove her father was a murderer.

At the end of this post, I’m going to include several links that you can follow to learn more about the specifics of the case, and all the various media that covered it.  There was a “local” movie made about the circumstances called “Blanchard Road”, by Alex Dunbar and it was shown at a local theater in Syracuse upon Roy Brown’s release.  I managed to get a copy.  It was also highlighted on an episode of “On the Case” with Paula Zahn.  You can Google any of these things and find even more information.

Admittedly, I am, to this day, torn about this episode of my life.  I’m thankful Mr. Brown was eventually exonerated, freed, received his liver transplant in time, and received a multi-million dollar settlement from New York State.  However, I don’t know if I’m just plain in denial, or BB did such a good job of covering it up (which is doubtful), but there still remains some doubt in my mind that he committed this murder.  Just a hint.  He was not that smart or had enough foresight to be able to hide all remnants of such a vicious murder from the first person to see him shortly after it occurred.  Trust me.  And yet, there were no signs.  But besides the DNA proof that was unearthed, there did remain a few personal indications to me (specifically) that could further confirm BB’s guilt:  the victim was beaten, stabbed, choked and bitten.  Three of those four methods I had known BB well enough that it could be considered his MOA (method of operation), as I had been his victim many, many times over the previous years.









**Note ~ the name of this chapter came from the letter that Roy Brown wrote to BB right before BB committed suicide in 2003.  See the “Roy Brown letter.pdf” link above to read what he wrote.**

**Chapter 9 is currently stalled but forthcoming in a day or two.**

Revealed Chapter 6: Trading Faces ~

I’m not sure how much longer I maintained my marriage to BH after I got back from my Great Meadow conjugal visit.  I don’t think it was long.  Somewhere in the midst I picked up the girls and we moved to Auburn, NY, we three.  Again, low income housing, as although I’d graduated from business school, I couldn’t yet find a job that would pay me enough to put Kristen and Karalyn into full time day care.  Kristen would be in Kindergarten that year.

 BH was moved back to Attica shortly after I moved to Auburn, and he put in for another conjugal visit there.  But when the time came and it was approved, I made up an excuse that I couldn’t go.  He never was very understanding.  But I think after my trip(s) to Great Meadow, and the conjugal visit fiasco (for me!) there, I’d lost my interest in being an inmate’s wife and all the “responsibilities” that came with it.  It was only a matter of time before I got busted bringing contraband in once again, and it brought with it a reality that I might end up in prison, myself.  It was no longer worth the risk… if it ever really was.  What the heck was I thinking anyway?  I’ve got two small children who rely on me, only me. 

 I was making new friends in my public housing arena.  I still spoke with BH on the phone, but my visits ~ even the “normal” ones, waned.  Time for a new adventure!  My newest and closest friend in Auburn was a woman with three growing boys, and she lived about a block from me and my girls.  We became fast friends, and she in turn began introducing me to her friends.  One such friend was a young woman with a developmentally challenged son around 2 yrs old, plus she was very obviously pregnant and close to delivery with her second child.  We’d hang out together during the day and chat about kids, school, husbands.  She had divulged that her husband of a year or maybe two, was seeing other women, but that she didn’t care as they had an “open marriage” and she was seeing other guys.  She knew of my marital plight, and that I was new to Auburn and lonely, so she nicely offered to send her husband to my apartment to let me “borrow”? him for as long as I wanted!  After the initial shock of the offer, and realizing that she was dead serious, I quickly declined this rather weird and uncomfortable offer, then took every opportunity to avoid her from then on.

 As fate would have it, some weeks later I happened to meet this wayward husband of hers at my original girlfriend’s house while he was doing some maintenance work for her in her kitchen.  My friend introduced me to BB, but did not tell me that he was the wayward husband until much later.  I just thought he was some guy, moderately attractive and seemingly single.  Ok, sure, I flirted, so what?  It was harmless.  The guy didn’t wear a wedding ring, I wasn’t “seriously” flirting, just having fun.

Eventually he was the one who told me that he was married and who he was married to.  However, he made it clear to me that he was “interested” in spending some time with me and wanted to know what I thought.  The whole thing was just a little too bizarre for me… imagine that, after what lifestyle I was still trying to recover from!  Anyway, I said thanks, but no thanks, and went on about my way.  Though somewhere in the back of my mind, I did entertain the idea.  What could it hurt?  He was in an open marriage, and I already had his spouse’s approval ~ indeed, encouragement!  Still…  Well, I was pretty lonely.  And I was resigned to the fact that I would never have another conjugal visit, no matter what.  And, even though I was still married to BH, it was really only a “technicality”, so what could a little “fling” hurt?  I’m only human after all.  And BH didn’t really have to find out.  I mean, how would he find out anyway?  This was something to be seriously considered.

I may have considered it all overnight, maybe that long.  Maybe less.  But I met up with BB the next day and gave him the okay to stop by my apartment that evening after he got done with his work.  I’d figured we could chat and get to know each other for awhile until the girls went to bed for the night.  And sure enough, he showed up on my doorstep around 8 pm with a smile.  And this was to be the not-so-innocent beginning of a 13 year relationship full of tumult and chaos.  Granted, there was some fun mixed in, as BB was like a kid ~ a BIG kid at 6’4″ tall ~ himself.

 It didn’t take long… less than a month… of “seeing” each other before BB was staying over at my apartment regularly.  Even though his wife had just given him a son, the two of them eventually split for good, and she took the newborn and her other son and moved out of Auburn.  She would soon give up that newborn for adoption, and BB would never see him again… nor did he seem to care.  A legal divorce between them did not seem to be a priority for either of them, nor me, as I had no plans to make anything legal with BB either ~ especially since I still had a husband of my own to contend with… and he was a very dangerous force.  At this point, I didn’t know that I was trading one dangerous force for another.  That would come much later down the road.

BH had determined that something was “amiss” since I came to see him less and less, and refused his collect calls more and more.  So when I visited him in August 1984 to let him know that I no longer wanted to be his wife, nor the responsibilities that come with it, he flat out asked me if I was seeing someone else and I had to confess.  Not only did I have to come clean about that, but also that I was now pregnant with BB’s child.  My husband was “gracious about the news, he even was amiable about granting me a divorce, even saying he would pay for it (through his parents, who had $$).  Yes, things were going swimmingly until the very last few minutes of our visit in the visiting room at Attica State Prison when he leaned over to give me what I thought would be an amicable kiss goodbye on the cheek.  But instead he said something to the effect of:  “You do realize that one day I’m going to get out of here, and if I ever see you on the street, I’m going to kill you.  So long as you know that, we’re good.”  I looked at him with his sinister smile and, if I ever knew anything in my life, I knew that he meant what he said.  We’d had plenty of discussions of how to dispose of people you don’t want in your life and either make it look like an accident, or they just “disappear” ~ yes, he knew how to make it happen and not get caught this time.  Even my bones would never be found.  This was a threat to take seriously, and to watch my back for the rest of my life.  My only consolation was knowing that he wanted to commit the murder himself, which would mean I at least had until his minimum parole date (another 3 years) before I needed to be cautious.  I considered myself lucky that he didn’t decide to have one of his prison connections just take care of things for him immediately.  My blood went cold as I walked out of the prison that final day, and I knew I should probably start watching my back right then, just in case he changed his mind.

However, I had other things on my mind as well.  A new baby was on the way, and I had to facilitate getting my second divorce.  I was now living full time with the new father, or I should say he was living with me and my two daughters.  I would soon forget about the prison life and the dangerous man I left behind, or would I?  My soon-to-be ex husband and my new companion shared the same first name… an uncommon one at that.  I would later discover that names are not the only thing these two men would ever have in common.

Forgiven and Set Free ~

I am a child of God.  I am His daughter, His princess, His brown-eyed girl and his devoted and loving child.  I’m pretty happy with this arrangement, and I’m sure so is He.  I spent a good deal of this early summer learning and getting comfortable with myself, and my God.  It took a lot of hard work, tears and revelation to be able to admit, privately and publicly, that I had an abortion when I had just turned 14 years old.  It’s not something you can just discuss over lunch with a friend, or blurt out at some perceived opportune moment.  Even now I have difficulty putting this “out there” for all to know, but the difference is now I know it serves a purpose.  If telling my experience can save just one girl/young woman/woman from choosing abortion over any other option, I will consider this sacrifice of privacy a success.

   Yes, I found myself pregnant at the age of 13, in 1974.  Surprised?  I was!  As a 13 year old in 1974, I was extremely naïve, and just plain didn’t know much.  So when a young man approached me (he was also 13) and wanted to be my boyfriend, and he gave me lots of attention, I was flattered and loved the attention.  Who wouldn’t?  We took that next step, and we weren’t careful.  As I look back I think “What was I thinking???”  Well, obviously I wasn’t.

   There are some blank spots in my memory surrounding that summer.  Somehow our parents found out, and took it from there, making the decisions and all of the arrangements to get things taken care of quietly so that he (the baby’s father) and I would be able to continue on with our lives without interruption or inconvenience… I guess.  The next thing I knew, I was being admitted to Crouse Hospital for three days, and my parents left me there alone.  I wouldn’t discover until decades later that I was never alone.  But here I was.  This was not to be your “simple” abortion, by the way, somehow months had gone by before my admittance, and I was now almost 5 months along, well into my second trimester.  So a “saline abortion” had been ordered by my OB/GYN.  Now, at my age, I had no idea what was even happening, all I cared about was if it was going to hurt.  As I stared at the 10″ needle that was about to be inserted into my uterus, my doctor and his attending nurse tried to reassure me.  I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, thinking about being able to go home and go horseback riding… after all, it was summer vacation! 

   Somewhere in the middle of the night the contractions began and kept me awake.  I labored for the better part of 10 hours in my hospital room, by myself, as I watched the nurses going about their routine outside in the hall.  I remember thinking to myself when would this end and what would be the result?  When could I go home?  Then I remembered “three days” and knew I’d be able to leave the next day.  The nursing staff pretty much ignored me and left me to myself as I felt like my stomach was about to explode.  Why hadn’t I been allowed breakfast that morning when I woke up?  Finally, after an eternity, I had to push and my child was born in the hospital bed.  I felt the little arms and legs jerk between my legs, and I called for a nurse.  A 40-something year old woman came into the room and seemed surprised to see a baby there, but she began to wrap him up and prepared to whisk him away to who-knows-where.  I quickly asked if it was a boy or girl, and she hastily told me my son had been born alive… then they were gone.  My parents picked me up the next evening after they finished work, and they took me home as if I’d just had my tonsils out.  It was never mentioned again, by them or by me.

   Decades later, when I began having bouts of depression and uncontrolled crying, my husband and I were stumped as to why.  That is, until I began having thoughts and memories of that summer in 1974, and regrets and doubts about what I should’ve/could’ve done to change my baby’s fate.  See, now I had become a Christian woman, a woman of God, and I didn’t believe in abortion… under any circumstance.  I believe in life at conception, and under no circumstances should a person take that child’s life or it would be considered murder.  Was I really seeing myself in that new light?  Certainly I could not be considered a murderer, as I had no control over what my parents did.  And they couldn’t be murderers, they were my parents, doing only the best that they could for my benefit and future.  Certainly neither God nor I could blame them!

   Well the depression and crying continued intermittently.  I sent to Crouse Hospital for a copy of the records of that abortion, and I got a clinical 4 page assessment of what happened.  “Products of conception” he was called.  My baby boy.  This year, 2012, it hit me again ~ very hard this time.  I confided in a friend, who told me about a post-abortion Bible study group from our church that might be helpful, and she gave me a name and a phone number.  I was skeptical, but I made the call and the arrangements to meet with this “group” and commit myself to getting through this and getting better, getting results, getting to the bottom of this.  The group was to be 10 weeks long, and we met once a week.  Two incredible young, devoted and loving women from church lead the group ~ each confessing that they, too, had been there and back, and that we would get through it and come out alive and better for it.  Seriously?  Who ARE these people?  But I devoted myself to my Monday night sessions, and to the homework as well, which consisted of reading a “workbook” and answering a myriad of questions in addition to reading Bible passages that pertained.

   I learned so much from this Bible study.  I was finally able to mourn the loss of my child.  Society supports women who have lost a child due to miscarriage, or after birth, but nowhere is there recognition or support of a woman who has had an abortion ~ also the loss of a child.  And society would say, “Hey, you’ve had 38 years to get over it,” in my case, but does any mother ever truly “get over” the loss of their child?  I put it right up there with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), and in fact, it is referred to PAS (post abortion syndrome), and it is real.  Go figure?  Finally a NAME to address what I’d been experiencing, and an avenue in which to get better!  I learned how to forgive myself, as God has forgiven me, for being complacent in going along with the plans for my son.  I did nothing to thwart his death.  I also was able to forgive all of those people involved in this:  my son’s father, my parents, his parents, even the OB/GYN.  I needed to forgive and show mercy.  Having mercy means that we no longer hope in our hearts that they’ll get what they deserve, no longer want to see them punished.   I could finally put the depression, anger, guilt and even the suicidal thoughts behind me.  I was finally beginning to feel my life come back to me and my spirits lifted.

   At the end of the 10 week study, I felt like a new person (2nd Cor 5:17) “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”  I realize that there will be times when I think about my son, who has since been named, but I know how to deal with these emotions, and on who I can rely and trust.  I am my Father’s daughter.  Those of us in the Bible study, and our study leaders had a memorial celebration at the end of the 10 weeks at the church.  It was beautiful!  There were flowers, candles, music and speeches in memoriam of our children.  At the end, we let go of helium balloons outside and watched them glide away.  Al and I also purchased and planted a beautiful red oak tree in our front yard in memory of the loss.  The oak tree will grow big and strong, as I know my son would have.  He must’ve been a strong little guy to make it through and survive as long as he did.

   And now I’ve been able to move on and put the past behind me.  I know someday I’ll be able to see him again in Heaven, and I’m looking forward to that day.  Until then, I can rest each day knowing he’s with Our Father, and that my future is set.  And I’m thanking God each day that I’ve been Forgiven and Set Free!

My little red oak tree, planted in memory of Kirk Leroy Thomas (so named by his father and having the same middle and last name as his father). We call it “Kirkwood” for short. The yellow mums were planted from the memorial, as well as the white roses that were given to me by a special Sister in Christ at the memorial. Kirkwood has survived the weather/storms better than any of our other oaks or maples, including my King Crimson maple that stands not far from the strong little oak.

















4-3-2013 Update ~ Recently our church, Word of Life Assembly of God, in Baldwinsville, NY, helped facilitate a promotional video of the Forgiven and Set Free experience.  It can be found HERE on You Tube.  It breaks my heart and sets me free each time I see it, remember it, remember him (Kirk Leroy Thomas) and hear that song (about abortion).  I hope you’ll visit the link and listen in … can you tell which one is me?

God bless!