My Mother Grew up With a Murderer and It Shows
When I was a little girl my mother taught me not to talk to strangers, to lock the doors and windows, and to fight like hell if I needed to. She taught me a code word to use casually on the phone or in a conversation to alert her if I was in danger. She taught me never to get in a car with anyone unless she’d planned it in advance or they knew that code word.
She taught me about the monsters among us, the kind that walk and talk and look just like people. The “wolves in sheep’s clothing” she’d call them.
My mother gave me the gift of fear.
There were times when I embraced that gift, trusted it when it showed up in my gut and there were times when I ignored it, sometimes to my detriment. When I think back on all my mother’s stories, her personal history, I’ve always known she’d found her fears the hard way.
You see, mother learned at a very young age that the adults in her life could not keep her and her siblings safe. This notion may have originated with the untimely death of my uncle David, my mother’s older brother. David died of leukemia at age six when my mother was five years old. I’m not sure my mother has ever really felt safe since then.
I’ve also known for some time that she knew a murderer when she was a girl. I hadn’t considered what that really meant to her until recently. Now, he wasn’t a murderer when she first me him in grade school. He was just a regular kid trying to survive an abusive home in the city. By the time he became a murderer, she liked him so much that she didn’t believe he was a murderer. Even when he was convicted of 2nd degree murder, she believed him when he maintained his innocence. She even went to see him in prison until she tricked a confession out of him.
That changed her. Knowing changed her. Knowing that sweet young man was capable of cold blooded murder changed my mother and it shows. He went on to commit some of the most callous acts I have ever heard of and he did so without any sign of remorse. He was ultimately killed in prison by another inmate.
We recently read court reports in which his accomplice recounts, in detached detail, murders that they committed together in order to cover up another murder. After reading those reports my mother looked at me with a subtle grimace and said “You know people really liked him. Like, really liked him.” She told me how kind and funny he had been before trailing off, seemingly lost in thought. She added at some point that she always thought she’d be able to tell if she met someone who was a murderer.
My mother can recall one time being so mad at him as a young teen that she rode up to him on her bike, jumped off of it, marched over and waggled her finger at him screaming his offenses. He just hid behind one of their friends as if he was afraid her, four years older and probably forty pounds heavier and he just got right out of her way like she was fire breathing dragon. I can’t say I totally blame him – I mean you really don’t want to piss off my mother, but this same guy was a murderer. It really gave new meaning to phrases like “you never really know someone” or “you think you know someone…”
My mother knew a murderer – knew him, liked him, trusted him.
Until she didn’t, and it shows.
I know I may not have made it out alive when I was married. Luckily my ex actually admitted he was coming home to beat me and I got my restraining order. He strangled me before then and I needed surgery a few years later. I was in much pain. Doctor told me the bones look like it was damaged by his hands.
My ex did not murder anyone that I know of, but I can tell you I may not have made it out alive.
Meanwhile I also got full custody of the children because someone I don’t know reported him with my children and it was on video taken in the WalMart parking lot.
He was and is SUCH A GOOD GUY to many folks in Hannibal, Missouri. He also has a lot of buddies. He is not mine and I am too nice to be with that. I am also alive. Don’t stick around to see if the black eye turns into strangulation. LEAVE.
Thank you for sharing your truth Becky. I’m grateful you’re here to tell your story.
You have a wonderful way with words. Thank you for theses blogs.
Thank you Lisa and thank you for reading.
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Rachel, there is nothing more jarring than finding out that you don’t truly know the people you thought you knew. After my college friend R.S. was murdered by his wife’s lover, one of our common friends continued to believe that the wife A.S. (who was also our long time friend) had nothing to do with it. This flies in the face of all logic and evidence, as A. did many suspicious things immediately upon hearing R.S. (her husband) had been killed. A. barricaded herself in her house with her brother and wiped her phone clean. She immediately refused to cooperate with the police and denied the well-proven affair. A’s best friend even testified that she believed there was an affair. The MURDERER testified that there was an affair. I don’t know if A. planned the murder… but she wasn’t who we thought she was. Even after doing 18 months for her perjury during the murder trial, she has never come clean about her role in the murder or in the events that led to her lover killing our friend. Our common friend STILL defends her. He just can’t imagine she wasn’t the well-liked person we thought she was. A. is either someone who put her pride ahead of telling RS’s family the truth of why their son is dead, or she had a role in planning or encouraging his murder. Either way- it’s horrifying.
To admit to yourself that your friend was secretly a monster is so jarring, and takes time to process. My heart goes out to your mom, to you, and your sisters.
Thank you, Valerie. Really, there is no amount of worry that can prepare us for the evil that is in this world, right around us and that is jarring.
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