My Mother Was Stolen

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

Fourteen 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 also flying in, 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.

It was a bit of an out of body experience.  This was very real and though I would get teary, I was 100% on and rational.  We do have strength when faced with a tragedy.

I don’t recall which came first the attorney or sheriff, but not before grabbing the local newspapers – which were full of the story in more detail than we 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 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.

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.  It was like everyone knew.Mom in the middle with her parents, Doug on her lap and me on the floor.

As we sat across from the sheriff, who was incredibly compassionate, he shared the Domestic Violence history of dates and incidents on his black and green computer screen.   A restraining order my mom had taken out weeks earlier against this (I can’t say “man”) creep she had married but later dropped.  Huh?  My mom was close with all three of us… or so I thought.  This wall all new.

Though neither of us were surprised, we always questioned this creep.  He was strange, falsely dotting on my Mom, phoney and big on bravado.  In other words – an ass.  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 as noted by Jensen Family Law in Meza, AZ who handled the case.  She was a fun loving person but 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.  But I also remembered her being someone who wouldn’t take BS from anyone, until this creep came along.

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.  This is the lesson.  Speak up!!!

I recall her telling me once that the creep didn’t like it when we shared clothes.  Excuse me!  My mom and my love affair with clothing and sharing a wardrobe was part of our existence.  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, everything was still as it was.   Once inside he led us to the right, where I noticed the splintered brown door casing.  “Your mother locked herself in the bedroom.”   The creep broke the molding off the door to get in.

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.  I looked, but I didn’t look.  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.

One disadvantage of a creative mind, is I have a visual picture of this in my mind –  it does not go away.

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.  There is a school which thinks you should view it, so you know the person is gone.  Believe me I know she is gone.  Have I fantasized this was all a trick for her to get away – sure, but I know my mom isn’t going to show up one day.

This was getting too long so I broke it into two parts.  Part 2, will be out tomorrow.