Grief Diaries: Project Cold Case

By Lynda Cheldelin Fell and Ryan Backmann

Part of the award-winning Grief Diaries series, Project Cold Case is a true crime anthology featuring the stories of 22 active cold cases. Readers are taken inside the chilling aftermath of unsolved kidnappings and murder, revealing how surviving loved ones are forced to travel down a road that torments the already tormented mind, facing fresh h

• Language: English
• Publisher: AlyBlue Media
• Release date: Nov 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781944328573

Lynda Cheldelin Fell

LYNDA CHELDELIN FELL is an educator, speaker, author of over 30 books including the award-winning Grief Diaries, and founder of the International Grief Institute. Visit www.LyndaFell.com.

Book preview

Grief Diaries

PROJECT COLD CASE

True stories of surviving loss of a loved one

to unsolved kidnapping or murder

LYNDA CHELDELIN FELL

with

RYAN BACKMANN

FOREWORD BY JAY HOWELL

Former Florida State Prosecutor, U.S. Senate Investigator

Co-Founder, National Center for Missing & Exploited Children

INTRODUCTION BY RYAN BACKMANN

Founder & Executive Director, Project Cold Case

PREFACE BY KAREN BEAUDIN

Author/Public Speaker

A portion of proceeds from the sale of this book is donated to Project Cold Case, a nonprofit organ-ization working to publicize all unsolved U.S. homicides while linking information, families and law enforcement, and ultimately, helping to solve cold cases. www.projectcoldcase.org.

Grief Diaries

Project Cold Case – 1st ed.

True stories of surviving loss of a loved one

to unsolved kidnapping or murder

Lynda Cheldelin Fell/Ryan Backmann

Grief Diaries www.GriefDiaries.com

Cover Design by AlyBlue Media, LLC

Interior Design by AlyBlue Media LLC

Published by AlyBlue Media, LLC

Copyright © 2016 by AlyBlue Media All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-944328-47-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016916485

AlyBlue Media, LLC

Ferndale, WA 98248

www.AlyBlueMedia.com

This book is designed to provide informative narrations to readers. It is sold with the understanding that the writers, authors or publisher is not engaged to render any type of psychological, legal, or any other kind of professional advice. The content is the sole expression and opinion of the authors and writers. No warranties or guarantees are expressed or implied by the choice to include any of the content in this book. Neither the publisher nor the author or writers shall be liable for any physical, psychological, emotional, financial, or commercial damages including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential or other damages. Our views and rights are the same: You are responsible for your own choices, actions and results.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

GRIEF DIARIES

TESTIMONIALS

"HOPE . . . These stories reflect the authentic voices of individuals at the unexpected moment their lives were shattered and altered forever. Moments of strength in the midst of indescribable pain, resilience in the midst of rage; hope while mired in despair; each of which remind us in law enforcement to uphold our oath to protect and serve by never giving up." —SHERIFF SADIE DARNELL, Alachua County, Florida; Chair, Florida Cold Case Advisory Commission

"CRITICALLY IMPORTANT... I want to say to Lynda that what you are doing is so critically important." –DR. BERNICE A. KING, Daughter of Dr. Martin Luther King

"INSPIRATIONAL... Grief Diaries is the result of heartfelt testimonials from a dedicated and loving group of people. By sharing their stories, the reader will find inspiration and a renewed sense of comfort as they move through their own journey." -CANDACE LIGHTNER, Founder of Mothers Against Drunk Driving

"DEEPLY INTIMATE... Grief Diaries is a deeply intimate, authentic collection of narratives that speak to the powerful, often ambiguous, and wide spectrum of emotions that arise from loss. I so appreciate the vulnerability and truth embedded in these stories, which honor and bear witness to the many forms of bereavement that arise in the aftermath of death." -DR. ERICA GOLDBLATT HYATT, Chair of Psychology, Bryn Athyn College

"MOVING... In Grief Diaries, the stories are not only moving but often provide a rich background for any mourner to find a gem of insight that can be used in coping with loss. Reread each story with pen in hand and you will find many that are just right for you." -DR. LOUIS LAGRAND, Author of Healing Grief, Finding Peace

"A FORCE...The writers of this project, the Grief Diaries anthology series, are a force to be reckoned with. I’m betting we will be agents of great change."

-MARY LEE ROBINSON, Author and Founder of Set an Extra Plate initiative

"VITAL... Grief Diaries gives voice to the thousands who face this painful journey every day. Often alone in their time of need, these stories will play a vital role in surrounding each reader with warmth and comfort as they seek understanding and healing in the aftermath of their own loss." -JENNIFER CLARKE, obstetrical R.N., Perinatal Bereavement Committee at AMITA Health Adventist Medical Center

"STUNNING... Grief Diaries treats the reader to a rare combination of candor and fragility through the eyes of the bereaved. Delving into the deepest recesses of the heartbroken, the reader easily identifies with the diverse collection of stories and richly colored threads of profound love that create a stunning read full of comfort and hope." -DR. GLORIA HORSLEY, President, Open to Hope Foundation

"WONDERFUL...Grief Diaries is a wonderful computation of stories written by the best of experts, the bereaved themselves. Thank you for building awareness about a topic so near and dear to my heart." -DR. HEIDI HORSLEY, Adjunct Professor, School of Social Work, Columbia University, Author, Co-Founder of Open to Hope Organization

"HOPE AND HEALING... You are a pioneer in this field and you are breaking the trail for others to find hope and healing." -KRISTI SMITH, Bestselling Author & International Speaker

PROJECT COLD CASE

DEDICATION

In loving memory:

Heidi M. Allen

Cliff Backmann

B.J. Brooks

Joseph Dimare

DeColbie Jamar Esco Sr

Kathy Lynn Gloddy

Robert Levey

Phoutone Lothirath

Ashleigh Love

Donna Macho

Vanessa Malone

Karen Marchioni

Cecil Patrick Pat McMinn

Anna Marie Mullin

Terry Brooks Rewis

Jack L. Robinson

Michael S. Sanchez

Diane Marie Schofield

Carrie Marie Singer

Haley Smith

Stephen Spina

Alonzo Thomas IV

PROJECT COLD CASE

CONTENTS

TESTIMONIALS

DEDICATION

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

INTRODUCTION

PREFACE

THE BEGINNING

THE AFTERMATH

THE FUNERAL

THE TRANSITION

THE LAW

THE CASE

THE MEDIA

THE QUESTION

THE DARKNESS

OUR GRIEF

OUR RELATIONSHIPS

OUR FAITH

OUR HEALTH

THE QUIET

OUR FEARS

OUR COMFORT

OUR FORGIVENESS

OUR HOPE

OUR JOURNEY

MEET THE WRITERS

THANK YOU

LYNDA CHELDELIN FELL

ABOUT THE SERIES

BY JAY HOWELL

FOREWORD

What follows in this book are compelling narratives that reveal the harsh reality of homicide: the loss, the sorrow, the confusion, the anger, the scarcity of information and the prolonged search for justice. Listen to these voices and you will come to grips with what our courts have called the ultimate violation of self—homicide.

The survivors speak honestly and articulately about the wide spectrum of human emotions that they encountered on their path in support of their lost loved ones. These are real stories of a crime that is too often fictionalized in our society.

In the years that I tried homicide cases as a Florida prosecutor, we were concerned that the jurors, inundated with television, movies and books of fiction, would somehow lose sight of the fact that this case involved the loss of a real person. And so we would say in our final argument, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am concerned that your lives have been overtaken by fictionalized accounts of murder cases on TV, in the movies and in the books you read. This is different. This is a real case about an individual who lived in our community and who had the same fundamental right that we all have—to be able to live free and to die a natural death at the end of our time here on Earth. And this man—this defendant—took that right away.

There will be no mistake of fiction in taking account of these brave individuals who give voice to the path of the survivor—an eloquent and undisguised accounting of the consequences of the unlawful killing of a human being.

As I later learned myself, there is a significant difference between working homicide cases and being a homicide survivor. These accounts portray an accurate picture of just what full-force repercussions follow the taking of a life.

JAY HOWELL

U.S. Senate Investigator

Former Florida State Prosecutor

Co-founder - National Center for Missing & Exploited Children

BY RYAN BACKMANN

INTRODUCTION

Losing a loved one to an unsolved homicide adds a layer of complexity to an already traumatic experience. In Grief Diaries: Project Cold Case, both writers and readers are invited to heal through shared journeys. The contributors to this book write from a place of understanding because each one has experienced the grief associated with losing a loved one to homicide, coupled with the horror of not knowing who did it or why. Readers are invited to connect with other survivors whose personal grief journey may parallel their own. We all grieve differently and can often feel isolated in our struggle to heal and move forward. The goal of this book is to offer solidarity to those struggling with the pursuit of answers and justice. You are not alone!

As my own dad’s case grew cold and farther away from resolution, I made a choice to help other families like mine. In January 2015, I founded the nonprofit organization Project Cold Case, Inc. Our goal is to guarantee that victims of unsolved homicides will never be forgotten and that their families will always have a place to connect with other survivors living with a cold case.

RYAN BACKMANN

Founder/Executive Director—Project Cold Case, Inc.

www.projectcoldcase.org | [e-mail]

BY KAREN BEAUDIN

PREFACE

The effects from cold cases linger throughout a person’s life. The unknown forces a mind to travel down the road of imagination that torments the already tormented mind. I understand this anguish; my sister Kathy Lynn Gloddy was murdered in a small New England town in 1971. No one has ever been arrested.

When leads have been exhausted, an investigation is considered cold. When a case is considered cold, families stop receiving information. This lack of information adds to the grief they’re already experiencing. Reading Grief Diaries: Project Cold Case won’t alleviate a person’s pain, but it might help to know they’re not alone. Survivors of cold cases want you to know there is hope. I’ve experienced the days when I thought there was none. Kathy was only thirteen when she was murdered, and I was barely fifteen. During that time, I needed someone to tell me there was hope. I pray this addition to Grief Diaries brings comfort to those with cold cases and reveals hope for the future.

KAREN BEAUDIN, Author/Public Speaker

A Child is Missing: a true story

A Child is Missing: searching for justice

[e-mail]

740-485-4159

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEGINNING

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower; hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour. -WILLIAM BLAKE

Grief and sorrow is as unique to each individual as his or her fingerprint. To fully appreciate one’s perspective, it is helpful to understand the journey. In this chapter, each writer shares that very moment when they lost his or her loved one to help you understand when life as they knew it ended, and a new one began.

*

RYAN BACKMANN

Ryan was 31 when his 56-year-old

father Cliff was shot in 2009

My dad, Cliff Backmann, and I had not always had a close relationship. He and my mother divorced when I was very young and, while they attempted to work things out on several occasions, I don’t have many memories of us all being together. When I tell the story of my childhood, my dad’s involvement is in and out, mostly out. For many reasons my real relationship with my dad didn’t start until I was twenty-one and an adult myself. From that point forward we developed a very loving and consistent father-son bond. We spoke regularly and as luck would have it we found ourselves working in close proximity to each other. Friday lunches together became quite regular for a while. Over the next ten years we became closer than we had ever been.

On October 9, 2009, I spent close to an hour on the phone with my dad. We laughed, joked and solved all kinds of worldly problems. I sat in the driveway of my house for the last twenty minutes of our conversation. I was careful not to let him know I was home because he would have rushed the call to an end. It was important to him that he not take me away from time with my wife. We were just a few days away from celebrating our second wedding anniversary and my dad knew that.

On October 10, 2009, while we were getting ready to go to a friend’s house, I noticed two missed calls, from a blocked number on my phone. I had a single voicemail from a detective with the Jacksonville, Florida’s Sheriff’s Office telling me there had been an emergency and I needed to call them back right away. I did, and as thoughts of emergencies raced through my head I settled on a car crash. I assumed my mom had been in some kind of wreck and was probably at the hospital with a few broken bones. But when the detective answered the phone he told me that he was turning into my neighborhood and would tell me what was going on once he got to the house. I quickly went for the front door and yelled to my wife that something bad had happened and police were on their way to our house. We met two plainclothes detectives in the driveway, and they delivered the news that would flip my life upside down. They said, We hate to have to tell you this, but your father was murdered this afternoon.

It was a Saturday, and my dad had picked up a side job to make a little extra money. He worked as a construction superintendent during the week, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to do small odd jobs on the weekends. His wife, Jane, was suffering from stage four cancer and both worked six days a week to make ends meet. On this particular day he was working alone in a newly constructed office building on the south side of Jacksonville. Detectives believe that while my dad was vacuuming up drywall dust, the unknown assailant saw an opportunity. He walked into the building, shot my dad in the back, grabbed his wallet and walked out. My dad was able to call 911 and give a brief description of his attacker before losing consciousness while waiting for help to arrive. He was pronounced dead at a local hospital a short time later.

Like most people who have never experienced the loss of a loved one to homicide, I had some rather poor assumptions about how the investigation would go. I assumed (wrongly) that an arrest would be made and that it would be made quickly. Within a few weeks of my dad’s murder my boss had already put me on notice. He made it clear that he wasn’t happy with my distracted presence at work. Letting him know how willing I was to trade the distraction for having my father back seemed to seal my fate. He let me go a couple of months later.

Still in the throes of grief and trying desperately to figure out how to cope with this traumatic loss, I was now unemployed as well. It was then that I received a phone call from an organization that served families of homicide victims inviting me to a men-only support group. It was the first step in an ongoing journey to heal. The decision I made to go to that support meeting changed everything for me.

A month later I was volunteering for camps with children who had lost someone to homicide. A few months after that I was offered a position within that organization as a victim advocate. For over four years I worked with and helped other families experiencing what I had. A great deal of that time was spent in court escorting families to trials and sentencing hearings.

Always in the back of my mind I was wondering if I would ever have my day in court. Would I ever know what it was like to sit just a few feet away from the person who killed my dad? Would I ever look him in the eye? Would I ever be able to read a victim impact statement to the court and describe the emotional, physical, financial, social and psychological toll this loss had taken on me?

In 2014, my wife and I were expecting our first child, and a whole new level of anxiety consumed me. I was going to be a dad. I wasn’t going to be able to share that with my dad. He was never going to be able to hold his granddaughter. I was going to be responsible for protecting her from the evil in this world. She was going to ask one day where he was and what happened to him. When and how was I supposed to tell her? Her very next question would surely be about the bad guy being in jail. I would have to tell her that it doesn’t always work that way. The questions flooded my mind. What if something happened to me? How could I make sure my daughter never felt the pain I felt? There were so many questions and so few answers.

The organization I worked for was going through some serious challenges of its own, and the comfort, support and stability it once offered was gone. After months of discussions my wife and I decided that after her maternity leave I would stay home with our daughter and start a nonprofit organization to help families of unsolved homicides. When my daughter gets older and starts asking those questions, I will be able to tell her that she was my inspiration, and that I could not and would not sit back and raise a child in a world where it was acceptable for murders to go unsolved. The bad guys might not always go to jail, but it wouldn’t be because I sat back and accepted the apathetic status quo that typically surrounds cold cases. In 2015, I launched Project Cold Case Inc. and juggled being a stay-at-home dad and laying the foundation for a much needed organization.

*

KAREN BEAUDIN

Karen was 15 when her 13-year-old

sister Kathy was strangled in 1971

My sister Kathy was murdered in the small town of Franklin, New Hampshire. She went missing on November 21, 1971, and was found murdered the following day. Kathy was beaten, raped (possibly multiple times), strangled, and left naked in the woods approximately three miles from our home. Her body was run over multiple times, and her murder is still unsolved. The case was reactivated in 1983, and again in 2004. In 2006, Kathy’s remains were exhumed for DNA testing, but because her grave had been compromised, DNA was unobtainable. After my sister’s murder, I felt misplaced for the longest time. I couldn’t figure out how to have a normal life. What I didn’t realize was that my life would never be normal again. Learning to live within that abnormality was crucial. Without guidance from counselors, parents, or siblings, I stumbled along the way. Back then, 1971 was a different era; counselors were not available like they are now. Even with a counselor, the pain would have been the same. It was a long time before I laughed again or didn’t think about her murder every day. Maybe if I’d had a counselor, I could have been reassured that the guilt I felt from my first laugh, or the first day I didn’t think about Kathy, was normal. This guilt was overwhelming, and I grieved for her like it had just happened.

The first day I returned to school was dreadful. I felt like an outsider. There were so many firsts that were just painful. The first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Kathy’s birthday were just a few. But the seconds and thirds were painful, too. I wondered if it would always be that way. My grief came in waves. I told myself to hold on and wait, that it would pass. As time drifted into years, I realized I would always grieve her. Not the way I grieved her in the early years, which was constant with no relief. The waves of grief would come and go. Eventually I realized it was okay to cry when they did come. Releasing that sorrow was much better than keeping it all inside. I thought the tears were a sign of weakness, of not being able to move on. But they were a sign of love. I would always miss her.

Many years passed before I could give back to those in pain from the torments of murder. Once I could tell Kathy’s story, reach out to others and use my years of experience to encourage law enforcement to never give up on unsolved cases, I began to heal in a different way. I’ve found a way, my way, to honor her.

*

MARGIE BROOKS

Margie’s 19-year-old son

B.J. was shot in 2007

It was a beautiful fall day, perfect temperature, clouds in the sky only to give definition to the blue. The date was November 18, 2007, a Sunday. We had been living in a hotel because our home had been flooded by the Jacksonville, Florida, Electric Authority doing something called pipe bursting in the neighborhood. Anyway, this day we were able to get into our home to start cleaning up. My son, B.J., asked if we would need him there all day because he needed to finish a project for school. He said he would be at Auntie’s house using her computer and was then going to help setting up for his younger cousin’s birthday party.

A couple of hours later B.J. called to ask if we were going to make the party. We said no, because we still had more to do and no time to change. His dad told him to represent us, and B.J. said he would. We then exchanged I love you. We received three more calls from B.J.’s cellphone. In the first call, he said he was back at the hotel and asked if we were going to bring something to eat. In the second call, B.J. said he was going out with friends. The final call was from his friend Hector, saying B.J. had been shot and they needed to know what hospital to take him to.

We drove so fast, from the Holiday Inn in Orange Park down U.S. 17, that we saw the ambulance make the turn onto US 17; we followed it all the way to Stands. B.J. was taken into surgery right away, and we were ushered to the waiting room on the second floor. Hours later a priest came and asked if we’d spoken to the doctors yet. We told him we hadn’t, so the priest got the doctor. No parent wants to hear what came next, when the doctor said to us, "We are sorry. Barry [B.J.] was shot in an attempted robbery while walking from one friend’s apartment to another with his girlfriend. They wanted to accost the young lady. When B.J. stopped the one, the other shot him. They stole his cross.

B.J. is how he is known by the family. On November 18, 2007, B.J. made sure his schoolwork was completed, and helped get his cousin’s car started so she could attend her sister‘s birthday party. Later, he took his younger cousins to visit their grandmother but on November 19, around 1 or 2 a.m., my baby boy would be gone. No more phone calls; no more What are you doing, mommy? I need the car. No more raiding the refrigerator, and what I miss most: I LOVE U.

*

WILLENE BRYANT

Willene was 33 when her 23-year-old brother

Terry was killed in a hit-and-run in 2002

On the morning of April 21, 2002, an officer showed up at my door and asked if my brother was Terry Brooks Rewis. At first I thought Terry had gotten into some kind of trouble. But after he asked the first question, the remaining questions were in the past tense, so I knew something was very wrong. The officer finally said that hunters had found my brother’s body on Highway 56 this morning. It looked to be a hit-and-run.

I was the first family member notified, and had to go tell the rest of my family. We met with the original investigator at the Emanuel County Hospital in Swainsboro, Georgia, along with the lady my brother lived with and her son. We were all asked when was the last time we saw Terry alive. It had been a while for me and my sisters, but the lady Terry lived with said he had come home around lunchtime the day before with a man named James in a pickup truck. He changed clothes and they were going to the Redbreast Festival in Midville. The original investigator, Joel Beecher, said he would be talking to James next. He also said that my brother had been ran over multiple times and suggested that we not view the body. We were told of the severe damage Terry had sustained, like deep cuts, one of his legs was almost severed, he had several broken bones, and his neck was broken. Later at the funeral home we desperately wanted to see Bubba, as the family called him, and agreed to get the items to cover up what was necessary so a viewing could be possible before he was cremated. We had to buy a bandana because his scalp was gone.

A couple of days later Joel Beecher said they were able to identify one of the vehicles involved and it belonged to a Sheriff’s Department dispatcher. She didn’t stop or call it in because she thought my brother was a deer. I’ve always had a problem with this but nothing was ever done to her and she kept her job for over thirteen years after my brother was killed. I’ve also always had a problem believing my brother was struck from behind, according to Mr. Beecher, by an unknown vehicle.

I never knew what to do about my suspicions and wasn’t able to get help finding answers. Our brother Lonnie Ellis asked for the records a couple of months after Bubba was killed, only to be told, Sir, you do not want to see those pictures. This was denying our rights, and it seemed uncalled for.

In January 2014, I tried to get help through the Sheriff’s Department in Emanuel County. I talked to a new investigator named Brewer. He said he would pull the files and see about helping me get answers about my brother’s death. Two weeks later he hadn’t pulled the records and said he would not be able to do any more than what had already been done. A justice page was set up and I started telling our story to whoever would listen, and even those who didn’t care to listen, like the governor of Georgia. They said they would not help with my brother’s case.

I went to the district attorney, who said there were no records remaining on my brother’s unsolved death. I then involved WSAV-3 news, and that’s when Rocky Davis, the chief investigator at Emanuel County Sheriff’s Department, resurrected records on my brother, which consisted only of pictures and the coroner’s report. The accident report was gone, and so were all the interviews, auto inspections, and statements from the hunters who found my brother’s body.

*

LISA BUSKE

Lisa was 21 when her 18-year-old

sister Heidi was kidnapped in 1994

On Easter Sunday, April 3, 1994, my sister, Heidi M. Allen, worked the opening shift at the D & W convenience store in New Haven, New York. She worked so a coworker could stay home and watch her children find their Easter baskets. Instead of joining family and friends for Easter dinner, she was kidnapped while working alone. She remains missing twenty-two years later. Our community rallied, forming a command center at our volunteer fire department, working toward the goal of finding Heidi.

Heidi should have graduated from college in May 1994, a year early, but she was robbed of this accomplishment. We attended Bishop Cunningham Jr./Sr. High School in Oswego, New York. Heidi’s graduation date, 1993, never happened. Our school was forced to close due to low enrollment. Heidi didn’t return to public high school for her senior year. Instead, she applied for college a year early, was accepted, and earned her high school diploma and first year’s college credits simultaneously. She was a determined and driven young lady. She faced the adversity of her high school closing by accepting a more challenging route and succeeding in the progress. Heidi didn’t have the opportunity to walk across the platform to receive her diploma, but she did inspire her friends and family to never give up.

At the time of Heidi’s kidnapping, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children couldn’t help us because Heidi was eighteen. Since then, Suzanne’s Law was passed in 2006 to make sure all missing children, including those in college, and their families have the same opportunity for maximum support during the early, and most valuable, moments. For more about Suzanne’s Law, visit www.achildismissing.org/suzanne.asp. Even in the absence of the valuable NCMEC resources, Sara Anne Wood’s family reached out to us, and helped with poster distribution.

The community rallied to form a unified and Heidi-driven team. After nearly two days with no sleep, a missing persons expert was brought in from the Heidi Search Center, out of San Antonio, Texas (www.heidisearchcenter.com). The expert teamed with law enforcement to organize, train, and lead hundreds of volunteers. At the time, only three percent of this center’s cases were unsolved; Heidi’s case became one of the three percent still missing. I was encouraged by this expert because, for the first time, my parents slept. For the first time, I felt like someone understood how I was feeling, even though neither of us said a word. He came with knowledge about the search and rescue, as well as the heart necessary to encourage the family.

Within a year of Heidi’s kidnapping, my husband, Ed, convinced me to take a couple of days to get away. Up until then I had refused to go more than an hour away, just in case we got the call. Of course the call never came, but I think my husband and family were growing concerned for me. I agreed. This was prior to the cellphone age. My parents had a bag phone, but my husband and I couldn’t afford one. So it felt like an eternity driving two hours north into Canada for a break. After an hour, I made Ed pull into a gas station so I could call home. I called again when we arrived at the hotel. We went to dinner and a show, and I called my parents again when we returned to the hotel. My parents told me to relax and enjoy the time away. I ended up sleeping the best I had slept in months, and woke up feeling rested and more at peace. Our original plan was to scoot from the hotel first thing in the morning and catch breakfast on the way home, but instead I called my parents to say we were going to enjoy the continental breakfast at the hotel before checking out. I started to feel it was possible to achieve normal.

The plan was to get our bags from the room and leave after we ate, but when I entered our room the red light on the phone was flashing. We had a message. Only two people knew where we were: my mom and my dad. There was only one reason they would call. I almost vomited. Ed had to dial the desk because I couldn’t stop shaking. The desk line was busy. I couldn’t wait, so I rushed out the door and down to the lobby. I nearly trampled the woman at the desk to get my message. All it said was, Call Mom as soon as you can. Tears burned my cheeks as the clerk directed me to the pay phones. A woman answered the phone, and I asked for my mom. I was quizzed, and with rudeness. I said, This is Lisa. Where are my parents? What is wrong? Give me my mom! I don’t think I was nice either. I was stressed, scared, and was thinking, What if...?

Mom was summoned to the phone and, with a shaking voice, told me two men had been arrested. It was already in the newspaper. My husband and I left the hotel in a hurry; we stopped at nearly every gas station on the way home to look for a newspaper. I vowed to never leave town again. Two hours later we arrived at my parents’ house to find law enforcement blocking the driveway. We had to show identification to get in. I couldn’t believe it. Did this mean they had found Heidi? The answer was no. But two men had been arrested and were in custody. Over the past twenty-plus years, there have been way too many heart-stopping phone calls to count. Every single one instantly sent me back to 1994. I never know when a call is the call.

I’ve sat through hearings, trials, and press conferences. Each event increases my stress and blood pressure, and interrupts my ability to think and process. There are times I find myself shaking my head and saying, When will this end? The answer is never.

After reading this, I realize you might view me as self-centered. I don’t mean this as a selfish thought, but at times I just want...no, I need...a break. I don’t know what it feels like to live through a homicide in the sense of a tragic loss that includes burying a loved one. But I do know how deeply it hurts to relive my sister’s kidnapping on a daily basis. More than two decades later, the hearings, lies, and chaos continue.

At times, I wonder if anyone remembers Heidi. Do they remember why they sit at these hearings? Do people realize that families of the victims read their comments or hear their interviews on television? Could they live each day listening to their loved one’s character being slandered over produce at the grocery store? I stopped myself from falling into this cycle of anger, frustration, and pain. I spent the first decade after Heidi’s kidnapping living in this vicious, life-attacking scenario. I was at my wits’ end, and didn’t know what else to do.

On the tenth anniversary of Heidi’s kidnapping, taking notes obtained from a psychic, I traipsed through the muddy woods looking for trees and water. If you aren’t familiar with upstate New York, this could be anywhere. But I just hurt so badly, and just wanted Heidi back, that I wasn’t seeing the lies or discrepancies. I only heard what I wanted to hear: I’ll help you find Heidi. While hiking in the woods, I stopped to take a break. I closed my eyes and asked for a sign from God. If you are real, give me a sign, I asked. At that moment, sunlight peeked through the trees and warmed my cheeks. I felt like I was sitting in His rays. For the first time in ten years, I believed God was good, and I knew He loved me. This was the first step toward changing my thinking.

Fast-forward to November, when God used one of my students, Jonathan, to provide the love, support, and healing I needed. One day Jonathan looked me in the eyes and said, Mrs. Buske, you need Jesus. Will you come to church on Sunday? Long story short, I went to church, and cried the entire way home because of how God had touched my heart and restored hope in one visit. The next decade was a new adventure, but one in which I looked forward instead of running away to avoid the pain.

I miss my sister every day, and pray for her to be found. There are days when I cry because I see, read, or think about something silly. Then there are times when I can have full conversations with no emotional drain at the time. I lost my sister, my faith, and my ability to trust. Over time, I found a deeper faith and I am slower to trust, but one thing remains unchanged: I always miss my sister and I want her found.

*

JENNIFER CASE

Jennifer was 14 when her 41-year-old

mother Karen was stabbed in 2001

On October 6, 2001, I went to my grandmother’s house to celebrate my mom’s forty-first birthday. I gave her flowers and we all had dinner and cake. She seemed so happy. That was the last time I saw her, and I am so grateful that it was under such happy circumstances. Unbeknownst to me, around 2 or 3 a.m., she came to my dad’s house saying that she was very afraid. She told him she thought people were outside her home and she was afraid to sleep there. They agreed that she should sleep at her mother’s house, and she left. That was the last time my dad saw my mom alive.

On October 8, my mother was stabbed multiple times in her face, neck and chest. She was able to call 911, but all she could say was I’ve been stabbed, not who was responsible. The police came and found her unconscious but breathing, and airlifted her to UMass Medical Center in Worcester, Massachusetts. She was in surgery for two hours but didn’t survive.

My dad picked me up from a friend’s house that afternoon, and when we got home he told me what a father should never have to: that my mother had been brutally murdered. He is the strongest person I know and will always have my utmost sympathy for having to do that.

There were DNA and fingerprints