Growing up was hard and lonely; emptiness filled her heart as she waited for her mum to return again. Her mum had no time for her or her brother John however, she preferred working the cruise ships and traveling the world. It didn’t seem to matter, time came and went, and her mum was out the door yet again, drifting the open seas towards some destination and farther from her. This left her to live with her Nan and John. Soon too though, John left her and went into the Marines. Leaving her with Nan, and the ever-growing emptiness in her heart. When her mum did return, she made time for fun and boyfriends more than anything. It was as if this thing called love was meant for everyone but her. As if love was a scarce commodity, and no one had it to give or the time to give it. Surely, she was worthy enough for someone to love her? But even her dad had a new family, somewhere…

Days turned into years, and finally she found this thing called love from an American airman. They got married and left Britain. They traveled to the United States where his family lived, leaving behind her past and any old wounds that might be buried with it. John a former Royal Marine commando, returned to England, and created his own family. She had three girls, and eventually one bad divorce. This thing called love, apparently didn’t stick around too long, and she like her mum, went looking for it in all the wrong places, not realizing it was right there all along. Her mum by the way, followed her from England and straight into the heart of Texas. Through the years, it was just the five of them except for one bad relationship with a boyfriend from time to time. Her, mum and three little girls, except when their dad took them for the weekends. She learned Photography, it became her passion and she was good at it.

As the years went by, she watched her girls grow into adults with children of their own. She even dated through their teen years and fell in love again, and though it lasted for years, it didn’t last. She spoke with John at times from England and he even visited a couple of times with his family. Those were precious moments to her and very dear to her heart. John was what was left of the painful and bittersweet memories of her childhood. The ache was still there, it would never leave. She sometimes pondered her Nan who was now gone, and the dad somewhere in England. With only fragments of memories to sift through, she could somehow recall that somewhere she had other siblings besides John. Then one day, she spoke to her dad from England and learned she had two sisters and two more brothers. It was bittersweet and the dad she barely knew, knew that he loved her. This thing called love could hurt and feel good at the same time if it wanted.

As more years came and went, this thing called love was ferocious and could bite if you let it. She learned though, that hate was not the answer and the love she searched the world for was right there with her daughters and grandchildren. It seemed nevertheless, the world had grown even darker and as the years went by, she watched her grandchildren grow into adults. As time raced by, she witnessed the battles her daughters fought, even the self-induced battles they brought on themselves sometimes, knowing they had to learn for themselves about this thing called love. She cried tears for the pain her grandchildren put on themselves and one grandson in particular she could not help. This grandson somehow grew darker and colder with the world, yet she loved him and her heart broke for him. If she had to, she would die for him, she would die for her whole family if it would save them. Yes, she knew what this thing called love was, for it burned in her heart deeper than the deepest ocean. It wasn’t a rare thing to give, you could share it with anyone and it would never run out. This thing called love, you could share it with the world and it would never run out.

I dedicate this to my mom Hazel, who was murdered in March of this year. She did finally speak to her dad before he died. Unfortunately, she never got to hear that he left her an inheritance in his will. My sisters and I just found out that the dad she loved, would keep a picture of her by his chair. Her brother John died of an autoimmune disease several years ago which broke my mom’s heart. The last person she loved in her life, although they broke up, committed suicide and her journals tell of her broken heart for her brother, her dad, her own mom and him. My mom loved deeply and she lost deeply but she never stopped loving and loved deeper because of it. She was an animal lover so much that we thought maybe she had too many at times but she would say, that “When people hurt her, animals were the only thing that didn’t.”

We love you mom, and we are learning from you, what this thing called love is all about.  Jesus is the ultimate love and knows our pain, He knows what each of us go through.

Your daughter,

Michelle

     The things we would say to the ones we love, had we only known it would be the last time.  On March 11th, 2017, my sweet mom, was murdered by her grandson.  Besides my mom, two other people were in her home that night when evil took her life.  God, my mom and two other people know what truly happened - while my family and I, wait for answers; search for the truth.  Although I can’t speak too deeply of the hideous crime that took her life due to an ongoing investigation, there truly is an emergence of light that could expose the darkness of lies and evil that were dictated from the terror and malicious intent my mom endured that Saturday evening. The guilty claims innocence, the lies spread like wildflowers, and the dark evil covers the light but only for a little while…truth will prevail.  

     My two sisters and I, have endured some of the stories of what transpired that terrible night. In theory, and right now everything seems to be in theory except for the dreadful pictures that the detectives hold in their possession, warning us that we do not want to see them. We’ve called the mortuary, only to hear that our tiny, helpless mom, possibly fought for her life by some of the broken fingernails. No one with empathy, could know what we know of this tragedy, and not come out unscathed or unchanged by it. As each new day comes, we wait for the trial, we wait for answers and ultimately the truth. My sisters and I, not only pray for justice but are fighting for it until we can fight no more. We are fighting for our mom and we are her voice to the very end.

     There’s not a day that goes by that my sisters and I, don’t struggle with her death. We must cross this dreadful path together and yet, somehow alone with the anticipation of Gods peace and comfort which He promises in His Word.  My heart and soul is dependent on the strength and peace that prayer brings, especially in the moments that I can’t catch my breath from the deep pains of crying, knowing she is gone forever. The shock hasn’t even worn off yet and sometimes we tell each other, it’s as though she was never real except for the three of us. The dawn of a new day comes, until one day becomes one month and the realization hits that there is no way out of this. I recall my mom sometimes saying while laughing, “No one gets out of here alive”. So right she is, none of us will leave this side of heaven alive.

     My mom was a journal writer, and I hold three ‘golden’ journals in my possession. Journals that to me, are worth more than any real gold could ever offer.  My mom had a way with words, she was not only an artist with photography, but she wrote from her heart in these journals. Poems, letters and iconic thoughts that come to life right off the pages. One day, one of my sisters went to my mom’s home, and took the pillow that my mom slept on, and as she lifted it, underneath was a beautifully typed but old letter to us. My mom had written it several years earlier about being a mother…it was a love letter to us, her daughters. We will never know how long she kept this keepsake letter under her pillow as she slept. One thing we do know however, is that our mom loved her family more deeply and more passionately than any person we know.  Our mom, loved her grandchildren, and the very grandson that sits in jail waiting for trial, and would have died for them without a second thought.  

     Not a day goes by that I do not think of my mom. I miss her every day and wish I could pick up the phone and call her, I've done it actually.  I still write on her Facebook page, and and say that I love her.  Some days are harder than others, and there is a deep pain my heart not just for my mom but the nephew that I still love and must somehow forgive.  I'm learning that forgiveness doesn't mean I must approve of another's actions, nor does it mean I'm forced to keep those that hurt me in my life.  It simply means, that I'm allowed to release the bitterness that would otherwise hold me back from a hope filled future.  

     One thing I know, tragedy has a way of turning your world upside down and you pray that you never take another person for granted. It’s easy to take things and people for granted even now, but my whole frame of mind is different. What I once valued or thought was important, it's the least important. God and family are important, and the rest must fall into place the way He sees fit. Decorating my home, buying things, those are corruptible and won’t leave here with me. Fame and fortune, who cares – not important.

     The important things die and leave you broken and changed forever. The important things, aren’t even things… it’s the love that you give and get. These may sound like clichés but what it boils down to, is love is the only thing that matters. Someone once told me, when someone you love dies, the grief that fills your life, is there because you have nowhere to put the love you hold for that person when they are gone. If that’s true, my grief will never cease, and maybe healing comes in other ways.  Mom, I love you so much – you were the most beautiful person I know and I miss you.  One day, I’ll see you in heaven.

"The only true love I have ever known in my whole life is family - we hurt each other the most but it's a committed love - to the death!"  From Hazel's journal.