In Memory Of Mary

I’m going to veer off topic today because nothing consumes my thoughts today more than the following story.  Warning: have a box of Kleenex handy.

Mary

Thirteen years ago today I answered a 5:00 pm phone call.  As I put the receiver to my ear and said “hello,” it was the voice of my little brother, “He shot her.”  Thoughts swirled in my head of going to a hospital.  Doug quickly made it clear this was not an option, “He killed her.”

Less than 16 hours later I was on a plane to Ft. Myers, FL to meet Jim, my mom’s brother, flying in from Dulles to go talk to the local sheriff of a small coastal town.  As an astute businessman and retired Army officer my uncle had already engaged an attorney for us to meet with.  I kept in constant contact with Doug, so he wouldn’t feel excluded since he could not make the trip.  I don’t recall which came first visiting the attorney or sheriff, but not before grabbing the local newspapers.

There was more news in the local papers than I had, which felt very disturbing.  Every sentence felt like a slap of unknown information.  There was a history of Domestic Violence?  Mom never mentioned this.  Why in the world did a newspaper have this information first?  Even our hometown paper way up at the tip of Northern Michigan had more than we did.  FYI: notify the family does not mean provide details.

As we sat across from the sheriff, who was incredibly compassionate, he shared the Domestic Violence history on his black and green computer screen.   There had been a restraining order my mom had taken out weeks earlier and later dropped against this (I can’t say “man”) creep she had married.  Huh?  My mom was close with all three of us, or so I thought.  We’d never heard any of this before.  I admit this made me very self-conscious as people’s pity filled eyes fell on Jim and I throughout this ordeal, others knew more than us.

Though neither of us were surprised, we always questioned this creep.  He was strange, falsely dotting and big on bravado.  Doug didn’t like him, Jim didn’t like him and I didn’t like him.  Unfortunately this made us keep our distance.  Mistake #1.

Mary was of an era of needing a man to validate her existence.  Starting with my father, who she divorced while I was in college, she was just never able to pick someone worthy of her big heart, gregarious personality and “I can do it” attitude.  Mary would step in to help almost anyone.  She could easily tear at another’s misfortune.  But I also remembered her being someone who wouldn’t take BS from anyone.

My grandparents, Mom with Doug on her lap and me at the bottom.

The three of us kept our opinions to ourselves, not wanting to upset Mary.  Mistake #2 – in hindsight if you feel something is off with a loved one’s choices say something. I recall her telling me once that the creep didn’t like it when we shared clothes.  Excuse me!  My mom and I had a love affair with clothing and raided the other’s closet since I was a teenager, much longer than he’d been around.  Mistake #3 – not knowing this is a distancing tactic used by an abuser.

Back to Florida… the sheriff warned us as we walked into my mom’s home, now a crime scene covered in the dinge of fingerprint dust.  Once inside he led us to the right, where I noticed the splintered brown door casing.  “Your mother locked herself in the bedroom.” Next he showed us the black phone on the side of the bed, “Your mother was probably trying to leave.” He meant for good.  This is typically when the violence escalates.  The sheriff explained they were able to trace her last phone call.  It wasn’t to me, Doug or my uncle.  It wasn’t to her family.  “Her last phone call was to the local Domestic Violence Agency, but he stopped it,” from going through.

The sheriff led us to the main area of the home, but not before he cautioned us that his men had put a sheet over the area.  “You may still see a little blood spattered on the walls.” In this area void of any smell I don’t recall seeing blood though I know it was there.  He pointed to the sheet, this is where the murderer made my mom kneel on the floor in front of him and shot her point blank in the face.

The sheriff and the attorney were very clear that though we had the right, we did not want to view the body.  Um, not a problem.  It was not a view I wanted to carry in my head for the rest of my life.  Though weird visuals pop into in my head at movies, is that what it looked like?  I don’t actually look as my husband always turns to kiss me in a violent moment to make sure I don’t see it.

Mom instructing me in the art of a snowball.  Also one of the few times I wore red.

About three weeks later after having to obtain permission from the murderer to have my mother’s body so we could bury her (why as her murdering husband he had more rights than her own child I’ll never comprehend), I received a package in the mail from the funeral home.  Inside a small cardboard box was a plastic bag and blue velvet pouch; the jewelry she was wearing at the time of her death.  She had a gold family ring from my great grandmother with a date, which by coincidence turned out to be the same date we buried her on.  I expected to see her signature blue lapis ring I claimed as a child, but when I took it out of the pouch I froze.  It had her blood on it (and still does).

No, there was not a trial and yes, the murderer is serving 23.5 years in jail.

Fourth of July 1976.

Sitting on the plane to Florida that morning, I knew something good must come out of this.  I must tell Mary’s story, so families know not to be afraid to speak up if something does not seem right.  Being a doer like Mary I immersed myself in my local domestic violence agency after her memorial service (the burial was two months later).  I learned everything I could and went through training to be able to help others.  There was a lot I didn’t know and never imagined.  I did many public speaking engagements sharing the above story.  I’ve spoken to corporations, teenagers, and even to inmates at maximum security prison.

So here I sit thirteen years later without a mom.  Funny things bring this to light, like when there is nobody to ask about medical history or how to do some mundane task around the house.  I can’t pick up the phone.  I don’t have that one person who is always on my side.  What I do have are many gifts (lessons) she gave me.

• How there is no such word as can’t.
• My ability to create anything.
• My interest in listening to both sides
• Empathy
• How to sew, cook and many other things.

Early lessons in how not to decorate?

So why did I post this to my blog, to honor my mom.  She was not perfect by her own admission but she was a pretty cool mom, baking cupcakes, sewing custom clothing (I started design young) & band uniforms, and freezing her butt off at every ski meet.  One of the things Doug and I put in her eulogy was she always gave us the opportunity to have and argue our point of view.  Did we always get our way, definitely not.  However, she allowed us the ability of having a conviction.

Domestic Violence comes in many shapes and sizes it can affect anyone rich or poor.  Silence allows Domestic Violence to grow.  Talking about it and teaching our children is the only way to Stop The Cycle of Domestic Violence.  As long as we are silent, people can get away with it.  Learn the signs.  Learn what abuse is.  Emotional abuse leaves far more scars than physical abuse, but it is still Domestic Violence.

To Be An Anchor In The Storm by Susan Brewster is a wonderful book for family members or friends of loved ones in a domestic violence situation.

The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

The National Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

The National Network to End Domestic Violence (NNEDV)

Please feel free to share this story, Domestic Violence is real. It happens to real people and often where you least expect it.  Thanks for reading.