Spring is Ugly
I’ve written about them many times before.
If you’ve never read about our case before, you’ll quickly find that this is a small town, sketchy boyfriend-kind-of-story.
Honestly, most everything I’ve written has been storytelling… getting their story out there. I’m not going to tell you about their story today – but you can read about it here.
This year for the anniversary of their disappearance I wanted to share with you all the real, ugly, raw truth of living through this hell.
In 2004, I was 16.
We had moved around a little, but Cross Plains is close to where I grew up. My family lived in all the surrounding cities, within a 20 min drive.
I had the best friends I’d had since elementary school, a childhood boyfriend, my first job at McDonalds…
and the simple, naïve life that most 16-year-old girls have the privilege of living.
My sister, Jennifer, had a baby at a young age.
And did you know that people make nasty judgments about that, even after knowing she was likely murdered?
Like, how do you even talk negatively about someone who was murdered, or doubly, their child was murdered.
You hear about people who have trauma from childhood, or adolescence…different things.
Maybe their parents divorce.
Maybe it’s some family friend that does things to them in secret, and they tell no one. Because they have no one.
Maybe it’s a house fire.
Maybe someone dies close to them, or they get left at school because their parent’s forgot to communicate about pickup.
Everyone has their tragedies, their problems…. I’ll say to people.
To minimize, or rather normalize what’s happened to me and relate to others. To make things less uncomfortable for them.
But the truth is, defending your sister’s choices after she’s been murdered isn’t easy.
What isn’t easy is that any ounce of normalcy my, 16-year-old-naïve-simple-self had before our tragedy was gone.
From that point forward my life would not be normal.
I watched my mother drown in her sorrow, barely surviving, even to this day, a lifetime of depression that no amount of medicine can cure.
When she smiled at me, I knew that behind that smile was heartbreak.
I heard people call her strong and tell her that they couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. What she still goes through.
I can tell you that my trauma shaped me into who I am today.
I had to learn to live without things that other kids took for granted – and listen to me closely here.
Do not misunderstand.
I was old enough to recognize that what we were going through was the cause and in no way, shape, or form, were we deprived of a happy home.
My mother was always there.
But, after that day, there would be no more smiles – without hidden heartbreak and an internal frown.
There would be no more happy holidays – without missing them and feeling guilty.
There would be no more celebrating – without feeling guilty for having good, happy feelings.
Every milestone I celebrated, and took pride in, was overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that I should be looking for them. Should be doing more.
I shouldn’t be needing my mom, how selfish. She has something more important to do. She’s gotta find them, find out what happened to them.
I shouldn’t ask her to help with my first car purchase, she needs that money for a private investigator.
I shouldn’t leave my mom to go to college, she needs me. She already lost one daughter.
Do it on your own.
Do it alone.
Stop being selfish.
Stop celebrating.
Stop smiling.
Don’t trust anyone.
No one is really who they say are, even family members are in the news every day for murder. Kids disappearing.
Remains being found.
Is it them? Every. Single. Time. If any remains or bones are found in our area or remotely close, my heart sinks.
Is that feeling I’m feeling… hope? I hope they find them, so we’ll finally know. Or.
I hope it’s not them. Because if it is, we have to face pain, death.
I’ve thought about that many times.
If they’re found, then what? Then we know someone did it. But who?
There’s a chance that even after their bodies are found, that we could still NEVER know.
‘It’s the boyfriend.’ People will say.
‘It’s always the boyfriend.’
‘Why can’t the police just interrogate him until he tells?’ It’s not that simple.
Imagine a system that protects rights for all.
Even the murderers.
Even your sister’s murderer.
‘There should be a law for that.’ Great, I’ll add that to my list of things to stay on top of.
Be an advocate.
Push for law and policy changes.
Never stop.
If you stop, it means you don’t care about them.
‘I’ve followed their story for years’ – they say.
‘So sad.’
‘Prayers.’
Did you know that a tragedy that hits this hard can break your faith, can test it?
It’s all part of the plan. HIS plan.
And I’m left wondering how in the world was I chosen to prove that there’s a ‘greater’ plan.
Why me? Why them.
I’m to still believe?
After all this?
So not only were their lives stolen.
Not only was my adolescence and naivety stolen.
Not only am I not allowed to be happy or move on.
But my faith too?
They’ve taken EVERYTHING.
After so much time, I’ve been able to lead a normal-ish life.
I do as much as I can for Jennifer and Adrianna. But, it’ll never be enough.
They deserve so much more.
You need to understand it’s not just me. Every member of my family has the same, yet different, story. And our tragedy has had a rippling effect.
This affects the kind of child I am, the kind of sister I am, the friend, the wife I am, the mother.
Talking to my mom this morning and low-key trying to plan a family gathering for their 19th anniversary this year, she said something that broke my heart.
Jennifer and Adrianna disappeared in the Spring of 2004.
‘I hate the Spring. Spring is ugly.’
She goes on to say how when they first disappeared it was Spring and hearing people talk about the cheerful blooms and warmer weather stirred up anger within her.
She’d snap.
It wasn’t cheerful.
The more time that passed, the more trees that bloomed, and as the weather turned… that could only mean… they’re gone.
.
.
.
Sigh.
But Casey. You have so much.
I do. But y’all.
Every light that I have comes with the shadow.
