Faced My Fears In Portland

By Diane De Han

This is a true story of a parent's journey in the aftermath of her son's homicide in Portland, OR. Follow Diane as she goes on a roller coaster ride to help her son get justice. Read how she grapples with grief and PTSD while dealing with a court case 1,000 miles from home. This mother was determined to face the crippling fears head-on instead of accepting a life of defeat. This is a moment by moment account of a parent's desperate battle to overcome hate and forgive the offenders who took her son's life. It's a book you can't set down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane De Han
• Release date: Oct 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737308508

Diane De Han

Diane has been an educator in the Los Angeles area for over 20 years. She's presently a blogger/author at marcsjustice.com. Her blogging topics include faith, personal accountability in an age of social flux

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Preface

This book's been written with you in mind. I believe you're the kind of person who's always trying to sort through the tough issues of life. Many people would be turned off by a book centering on a homicide, but coming off a pandemic has prepared you for almost any topic.

This book is an extension of my blog marcsjustice.com, which I started soon after my son Marc was murdered in Portland, OR, in October, 2014. My purpose in starting it was to keep my family and friends informed of the progress in his case, but the writing ritual soon became a much-needed conduit that helped me deal with life and death issues of my own. Writing about the tragedy forced me to evaluate my life and discard old myths I'd built up over the years. I emerged from the experience with a new sense of destiny that continues to surprise me to this day.

In these pages, I'm seeking to dialog with you about human tragedy because we're all coming off of some kind of pain due to the pandemic or some other matter. I'm writing so that those of you who are worried about our nation's direction might be interested in what I have to say about the strength of human relationships, and the infinite care God has available for us all.

I'm hoping you're a reader who's open to looking at life in real terms because you are tired of hearing stories through rose colored glasses, and tired of hearing info that scares you half out of your wits every day. My readers know we are in a state of flux in this nation and that a genuinely personal story is appreciated in times of crises. You don't need to be part of any religion or political party to get the message in this book. I believe the story on these pages will strike a chord in many of you.

ONE

Little Bit Of Heaven

Sawbonna

Zulu word for I see you.

Looking out over the city of Portland in October 2010 for the first time was a breathtaking experience. I was amazed at how the Willamette River wound under bridges and around the buildings like they were dropped out of a perfect city planning guide. The tall buildings downtown made a stunning statement against the October sunset. The evening lights signaled the city had said goodbye to the last rays of sunlight.

Prior to this visit, the Pacific Northwest had always seemed so dreary a place to live. However, the city took on a new identity this time when I visited my son Marc. As I stood watching the city life below from the high rise where he currently lived, twinkling lights shimmered along the tree lined avenues and Portland's many park areas. From my vantage point, I could see the bridges on the Willamette join the folks of South West Portland with those in South East.

How many people had walked Portland city streets in the last 200 years since the West Coast was merged with mainland America? How many were born since that time with sky high hopes and dreams? People in every age had lived their life just as my son Marc and I were, as we worked on our destiny. Today, we were meeting up to share a celebration.

I'd visited Portland before but had never seen it from this angle. There's something breathtaking about viewing a special town or landscape from so high up, like when you're flying to a vacation spot and look down at the human specks below and the mountains or beaches gleaming beyond them. I watched the mass of people below driving home for the day or meeting friends for dinner, and I felt a connection to them, like life can seem grand when you're with someone you love or care deeply about. Then I caught myself and remembered there were people down on that city street who were suffering in some way because life wasn't always as rosy as we thought on the surface. I felt for them.

I was visiting Portland again, for Marc had just completed a nine-month course at Oregon Culinary Institute and was graduating the next day. He was greatly relieved, for the course had been as intense as any professional culinary institute could be, comparable to Cordon Bleu standards. He was doubly excited when he landed a starting position working only four blocks from home. The peace in his life was palpable, I was so grateful for how his life was coming together for him like he dreamed it would.

Marc made sure to meet me at the airport so we could take a little tour of the city on our way back to his place downtown. The Trimet MAX lite rail takes passengers from Portland International Airport (PDX), to most any location around town, and is like no other rail system I'd ridden or heard of. It is the top in comfort, reliability, and efficiency and priced so that all citizens can travel the entire gamut of Portland with great ease.

We left the airport and got off at the Oak/SW 1st Ave stop downtown. I wasn't familiar with that part of town and felt uneasy as we walked past some homeless folks on the corner where a bakery operated in the daytime. I was relieved when we arrived at his place where the doorman greeted us warmly and let us in through security doors.

The next couple days we enjoyed the new modern kitchen in the condo, which was the summer home of a family friend, Dr. Robin Vandermolen. Marc and I both loved to cook, so we were in heaven. While we cooked dinner that first evening, we caught up on all kinds of personal stuff. And, since I like to know what's going on in a new city, I read the Oregonian paper I'd bought at the airport.

Right after graduation the next day, we visited food carts and discussed the ingredients of our different dishes. That evening Marc treated me to a birthday dinner at the Marriott on the Willamette waterfront two blocks from home.

Life seemed full of blessings. My son had fulfilled a dream and was feeling on top of the world. I just stood back and marveled in his answered prayers.

Fast forward... June 2014 -

I remember thinking it odd how quickly Marc's trip down to Los Angeles came about. It was his desire to attend a bike show locally one Saturday with his close childhood friend, Chris, but he wanted to spend his second day in Los Angeles with me.

It seemed our weekend visit went perfectly. I prepared a favorite dish for dinner Saturday night, and later we went on a sunset bike ride. Catching up with news in person is the best thing in the world for loved ones.

On the morning Marc was to leave he asked, What do you feel like doing for lunch'? We decided we should eat out and had the best chicken spinach salads at my favorite local grille. I remember how lunch was full of passionate discussion about the plans he had for the future. We also discussed some of the challenges America was currently going through, and he shared the thesis of a book he was reading by Mark Levin. As lunch wound down, he decided he wanted to buy me a gift, so I said, Well, what do you have in mind?" I ended up with the most perfect pair of shoes after a trip to Macy's!

I wondered in my heart again about why his trip to L.A. came about so effortlessly, so fast? I hadn't asked him to fly down, there was no celebration or holiday this trip. The entire trip just materialized without any stress or problem, like it was meant to be. I let my wondering alone and simply cherished the fact my son had values he felt passionate about, solid goals in life and a circle of support. I rejoiced at the way Marc's dreams were coming to pass before my eyes.

TWO

The Thing I Feared Happened

Even today my complaint is bitter; My hand is listless because of my groaning. Oh, that I knew where I might find Him.

Job 23:2-3

October held onto summer's warmth longer than usual in downtown Portland, OR. Around 2:30 A.M., October 16, an emergency dispatcher received a call.

911 Operator: 911 Dispatch.

Federal Officer: I heard a cry for help. There's a guy here badly hurt! I think he may have passed! We need a unit quickly! I'm at Fourth and….

* * *

As paramedics finished their work on a crime victim, Homicide Detectives and a forensic team arrived at the scene. They set up crime scene tape quietly across the street from Multnomah Circuit County Courthouse and began to examine the victim. Methodically, they collected and recorded evidence.

Detective: Does he have any ID on him?

Forensic member: "Yes, there was a wallet in his coat with a California Driver's License. It says M-A-R-C, Last name S-U-N-D-I-N

A few hours later a Portland police car parked in front of a condo on Third Avenue, downtown Portland. Moments later a knock was heard at a tenant's front door.

Are you the family of Marc Sundin?

Yes, I'm his father. Is anything wrong? Is he okay?

We're very sorry to inform you but there's been a stabbing.

THREE

The World of Crime

Expect to be confused, depressed or unable to stop crying. You may feel as though you're going through a nervous breakdown, but you're probably not. This is normal.

POMC (Parents of Murdered Children)

My circle of family and friends never talked about crime. Violence was a stranger. I didn't know anyone who worked closely with law enforcement, or the courts. I didn't know a soul who had ever served time in prison. I followed enough news, knew crime was out there, but it didn't intersect with my world. I never dreamed either of my sons or I would be involved in serious physical violence. So when the news of Marc's murder was broken to me that Thursday, I couldn't connect any dots! My child murdered? I had no clue how to process such a crime.

On October 16, 2014, I stepped into an alien world. From that day on, I've had to reconstruct my life around crime lingo, and how repugnant that felt. I didn't have any rules to guide me. The most horrific thing a parent could ever go through had happened, but I did not have the emotional reaction some parents have at first with deep sobs and heartbreaking wailing. I suppose my emotions froze in disbelief, and that likely prevented the incident from seeming real to me. Reality was suspended.

For sure, the news was like a dagger shoved into my heart, but I pushed it aside in order to rescue Marc. My thoughts rushed around inside, I need to get to Marc! During the next few weeks and months, I actually think a shield was around me, like a divine covering. It allowed my mind to carry responsibility for Marc's affairs while giving my emotions a break, so I wouldn’t go off the deep end.

In the moment I heard of the tragedy, I was stunned and immediately wanted Marc to rise from the dead. I know, you're maybe thinking that's preposterous, but I've heard parents testify about their child coming back from death. People have also come back from comas, drownings, surgeries gone wrong and even woken up in the morgue. I COULD NOT ACCEPT THAT MARC WAS GONE FROM THIS LIFE! I BELIEVED IN MIRACLES, I HAD THAT KIND OF FAITH!

Then I realized the incident had taken place hours earlier, and I might not be able to rally people to pray for Marc. I quickly understood it would not be a reality to see my son raised from the dead. I became overcome with the desire to go to Marc’s side because I felt he must be lonely. I believed he would want me to be there during his traumatic transition, as odd as that may sound. I could not bear to think of him alone, all by himself, like a forsaken family member, while we were lost in our own grief.

How do you bear having your child yanked from your life so fast? You don't stop caring for him. I sensed something like Marc calling out to me, wanting me to comfort him. As my mind grasped the cold reality of the homicide in a rough kind of way, my heart sensed my son was bereft of his body now. I felt so confused, like maybe Marc was perplexed too.

I knew Marc's spirit had been escorted by angels to heaven, but his body was still down here on earth with us, and I couldn't bear to think of him as separate from his body or being alone up there in Portland without me. I still loved his physical self like his soul self. I could not separate them.

Marc loved his life on earth. He loved to cook and bike. He loved to read, laugh with friends, and make plans for his life. How could that be over? Maybe he was sad or stunned that he woke up in a strange new place without a body, or anyone he knew? I just felt he missed me, others. It's odd in a crisis how we imagine all kinds of things that are not likely problems at all. I had a very rational side saying, Marc's life on earth is over, I am intelligent and know this, but you can't ask a mom's heart to be totally rational at this stage.

In between calling family and friends the first night, I felt the need to let Marc know I still cared about him, no matter what happened. I wanted to stay in touch. Isn't that the core of every loving relationship, that you love being around your loved one, and you care till the end? Many parents are in denial or disbelief with loss of a child's companionship. Some parents become hysterical or enraged with the murderer or with God. My heart focused for some moments on the horrific way Marc died, but it was the separation from him that was and is the toughest thing to bear to this day.

I couldn't fathom who'd want to hurt Marc? He and I had arrived at the place where we were seeing dreams come true and handling life's struggles as responsibly as we could. I was sure we didn't have friends who had a violent past, or any enemies who'd want to hurt us. I wondered why this awful evil befell my son? I had sorta assumed life would continue in a positive direction, despite the bumps and bruises we'd known. Now, now look what happened. What on earth was going on? What was God's part in this? Was He teaching me something?

Of course, I was not convinced the attack was the end of my son, I can't explain this.

That first evening after I made dazed, perfunctory calls to family and friends, I found myself crying and thinking. Crying and re-thinking. I wasn't sure what to say to God. I prayed with Pastors Dana and Mike over the phone and was glad for their never wavering trust that God was in the midst of the horrific tragedy, but home alone no Bible verses came to my mind. I didn’t recall a scripture to rescue my heart, no verse dangling from a stick to tease me to see the catastrophe a different way. I was left to drift on my own it seemed. Left to own it and wallow in its absurdity. I didn't get any easy answers, because... there ARE no easy answers. Little did I know how this horrendous tragedy would send me on the most unique journey of my life!

Blog post from Marcsjustice.com

"I tried praying to God that night, that part was automatic. But when I thought of Marc, I sensed a blank wall. I fumbled around for words to say. We were separated now for good on this earth, that part was obvious. Life would be different now, but I resisted with every fiber saying goodbye. Goodbye was not in my vocabulary. I instinctively needed to stay connected, like I needed my own breath. My parents and other relatives had passed away, and after the mourning period, I was able to accept them living in some far off heaven. Was this the way it was going to be with Marc? I knew the relationship I had with them would not be humanly possible for me to assume with Marc.

"For some reason I started to talk automatically to Marc; the words just flowed naturally, sorta like he was right by my side, and had never left. I was subconsciously trying to relate to him, I didn't want to live without him. It scared me terribly to think he was gone, and we'd lose touch for good. My soul wondered, 'What's going on? Is this 'it', he's gone forever? Oh, I've gotta get to him somehow.' Then, something 'clicked' inside, I believe it was God telling me, 'Just talk to Marc. It's not like he's dead, he's just moved on! Your relationship with him isn't over. It's just different now'.

"So, I just started to talk to him as if he was in the room with me. Everything came pouring out, and I felt close again. It felt so natural, so good to have my son back! I could have free access to Marc whenever I wanted now, and I knew he was not blocked off from my life. We were back in touch, and it felt like the world was 'righted' again.

Christian's believe there's an eternal afterlife for all true believers once we die, and since Marc and I shared our faith many times, I knew where his soul resided. I didn't feel anxiety about where he was. I had peace, and acceptance on that issue. I never doubted for a moment his personality was not still intact; it had just moved on and would be united at a later time with his body. Jesus told the thief on the cross beside Him, 'I'll see you in Paradise today.' Even in my agony, that passage was a great comfort for me about the transition Marc had just made.

During one talk I had with Marc the first night, I was crying so badly I shook my fist in the air and blurted out to him, Marc, IT'S NOT OVER! I had no idea why I said that or what not over meant, but I was angry and something instinctive rose up from inside. I guess I realized that evil had taken my son away, and somehow Marc's passing would be avenged! This terrible thing that had been done to Marc would not go un-noticed by God. I can't give you an explanation of how the avenging would be carried out, but the godliness in Marc seemed to be screaming back at me and demanding a just outcome for the crime committed against him.

Although I sensed the voice of the enemy telling me, From now on your life is going to be hell, I didn't believe the devil would win here. At the moment, even though I felt deep anger that Marc was taken from my life, I simultaneously felt God's love for Marc so deeply. It was like God was my witness, and He sealed my request.

That night I talked to Marc and told him how much I loved him, that I'd be a good mom and find out who did this to him. I told him I'd never stop working at getting justice for him, even if it took the rest of my life.

* * *

As I packed for my flight to Portland to see Marc and meet with family and police, I found myself thinking in slow motion. My