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Article published in the Charlotte Observer ~ 1/20/08
by Ed Jones
Special to the Observer
Misdiagnosed mental illness drove David Crespi to kill his twins
One of my best friends, and easily my most faithful pen pal, happens to be a murderer.
His name is David Crespi, and two years ago today, January 20th, he stabbed his five-year-old twin daughters to death while his wife Kim was out getting a haircut.
On this of all days, it would be obscene to minimize the horror of what happened to those utterly innocent little girls, Samantha and Tessara, who died thinking they were playing a game of hide and seek with daddy.
For many of us in this community, most especially the Crespi family, it was as if a dirty bomb of evil went off in our midst, radiating out damage that has yet to be fully measured, obliterating a part of our innocence forever.
But in spite of all that, I still love and forgive my friend David. In fact, I pray continually that after a long period of healing, David will walk out of prison and into the loving arms of Kim and his three surviving children.
It wasn't the real David
How can I, someone who once considered himself a law-and-order conservative, have come to this conclusion - one that some might consider dangerously naive?
Let me submit just three reasons.
First, I take my cue from the unwaveringly faithful and heroic witness of Kim Crespi, who frequently makes the long drive to the prison for her weekly visitations with David alone. If she, the mother of the girls she described in her funeral eulogy as "sacrificial lambs" to the epidemic of mental illness, is convinced beyond all doubt that the [begin italics] real [end italics] David, the loving teddy bear of a dad who never even lightly spanked one of his five children, could never have committed these acts, who am I to doubt her?
Second, having thrice fallen into the pit of depression myself (although never nearly to the depths that David reached - he had tried suicide at least twice before), I sometimes ruminate on this question:
If my family's DNA had given me a brain chemistry similar to David's, if my illness had been misdiagnosed for years as David's clearly was (it turns out he has bipolar disorder II), if I hadn't slept for days thanks to a cocktail of drugs like Ambien, Trazodone and Paxil, and then I was suddenly switched to Prozac and Lunesta, as David was just days, even hours prior to the murders, could I have done something equally as insane?
The final reason is the transformation I've observed in David firsthand, ever since he began receiving proper medication and treatment. For months after the psychotic episode that triggered the murders, he had a zombie-like look in his eyes, his hands trembling like those of a Parkinson's victim, his emotions about what had happened eerily flat.
But thanks to the compassionate care of his prison psychiatrists, the trembling in his hands has all but vanished, his eyes are clear, his emotions now readily available, especially those of unimaginable grief and contrition: "People thought I was a monster because they read in the paper that I seemed emotionless as I confessed to the murders," he told me during a visit. "But if you know anything about psychosis and depression, you know that's a classic symptom. If only they could see me now as I begin my prayers every morning," he says, shaking his head silently, tears welling up in his eyes. "The first thing I do is ask God and my two little angels for forgiveness."
During another visit, David also told me this, with the most profound sense of relief I've ever witnessed in a fellow human being: "My psychiatrist says that thanks to Lithium, I may never suffer from depression again."
Reaching out to others
And so, two years later, those of us who were touched by the tragedy try to deal with its aftereffects in our own ways. Many of us embrace Kim every chance we get, praying constantly for her and her family. We visit David when permitted and write him often - many much more faithfully than I do - invariably receiving a grateful, eloquent letter in the return mail two days later, filled with humble stories of how he's reaching out to fellow prisoners, particularly those who've struggled with mental illness.
Most of all, we take to heart the haunting words Kim told the courtroom on the day David was sentenced to two consecutive life terms without the possibility of parole:
"You don't stop loving somebody because they're sick."
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