Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Murder Most Foul

By Sheila Lowe, Forensic handwriting examiner and Mystery author

Reading the real-life horror of the murder of LJ’s relatives in her recent post brought up my own tragedy, which I wrote about a little in the comments. My daughter Jennifer was the victim in a murder/suicide on February 19, 2000. It’s been 13 ½ years, but every day brings reminders of her and I wonder how she would be—now at 40. Would she have continued in medical school? Settled down? Had the baby she wanted?

A few months after her death I was on assignment at McCormick Place in Chicago, analyzing handwriting at a convention of the American Psychiatric Association. A French psychiatrist told me about research on people with a certain type of closed head injury, which found there was an 80% chance of their dying violently, either by suicide or homicide. Jen had a fall from her crib as a baby, after which her behavior changed. She began having ghastly tantrums every day and was extremely difficult to handle. At age ten she was diagnosed as suicidal and homicidal and placed in a program for emotionally troubled children for three months (a profoundly painful event for both of us, which could easily be the subject of a book).

Tom Schnaible, the man who ended her life, was a federal agent who had also sustained a head injury, which I saw in his handwriting. No, I’m not psychic, but handwriting contains certain physiological artifacts and when I asked him about it, he told me he’d been injured on the job. Apparently, the research was right. I hate that my family is part of the 80%. But I’ve always felt that in a way, it was even worse for Tom’s family. My daughter was murdered, but their son was a murderer. And killing himself deprived his nine-year-old daughter of her father (he and Jen knew each other less than a year).

We always had a difficult and complicated relationship, but in the months before, when she told me, “I don’t hate you anymore,” I realized it was Jen’s way of saying ‘I love you.’ This experience has taught me a great deal about life after death, and she has made it quite clear that she is still involved in my life, which is a consolation.

It affects the way I write and the way I read, too. I rarely read “funny” murder mysteries. Murder isn’t funny. It’s closing up someone’s life, donating their clothes and other possessions, choosing their burial clothes and planning their funeral, telling their friends; dealing with the IRS, for whom death is not an excuse. Murder is seeing your firstborn in a casket, looking less like herself than a wax doll who would never have allowed her hair to be curled that way. It’s waking up in the night, terrified that maybe she wasn’t really dead when they put her in the ground—what if she woke up in the coffin...no, can’t go there.

I write about Jennifer in little bits like this because I can’t manage a whole book about it like I used to think I would. I write and speak about her frequently because maybe if I talk about some of the many forms abuse takes—it’s not just hitting—maybe someone will look at their abuser and realize it’s not going to get better. Tom never put a hand on her, but he shot her eight times as she was running toward the neighbor’s apartment.

So, I guess there should be a moral to this entry, and this is it: if someone isn’t treating you well, if they keep you up nights yelling at you and demeaning you, telling you everything bad that happens is your fault; if they isolate you from the people you love, and make you wonder if it really is something you’ve done, find a way to leave. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Jennifer was going to move home the next day. Instead, there was a phone call from the Orange County Sheriff’s department: “I’m sorry to tell you, your daughter’s been murdered.” If you are being abused, or know someone who is, please, leave. Now.
(apologies, I didn't mean to make this so long).

24 comments:

  1. Words fail me...yet I'll try. First, thanks for sharing this. I know it was painful to write. And my condolences on your loss. Losing a child is what every parent fears more than anything. Because there is no real recovery.

    The head injury information is also stunning, and it's making me look at someone I know in a new and worried way.

    For readers: I second Sheila's advice. Abusive situations never get better, only worse. I speak from experience. I'm lucky to be alive. My thanks also for reminding me to be grateful for that every day.

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  2. Oh, Sheila… my heart goes out to you. I knew some of this story of yours before, but it seems like little by little, you're able to provide more details of that horrific time in your life.

    As someone who has never been abused, it's difficult to even begin to imagine how it might happen. And yet I have friends and family who have lived through the experience—and probably more who are living it today.

    This is an important post, Sheila. Thank you for writing it.

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  3. Thanks for sharing this very moving post, Sheila. I hope writing about it helps you deal with this tragedy.

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  4. What a tragic story, Sheila. I'm in awe of your strength.

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  5. I hope that you feel strength and love from all the people that read this today. There is nothing harder than losing a child. Wishing serenity for you.

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  6. Sheila, thank you for sharing your daughter's story. I want to second what Llyn K. said about strength and love for you.

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  7. Thanks to all of you. Perhaps I should add that almost immediately, I accepted what had happened and dealt with it in a way that seemed to surprise people. I later came to understand that because Jennifer put herself in so many horrible situations that I did much of my grieving while she was still on the earth. Once she was gone, I knew that nobody could hurt her anymore. Though I hated what he did, I never experienced anger with Tom because I understood what had happened.

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    1. You had a lot of pain. I can understand grieving someone while they're still alive. {{{hugs}}}

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  9. Sheila, I had no idea of your loss. My heart goes out to you. I applaud you for sharing this information. I'm involved in the El Dorado County Women's Center and the stories I hear just sicken me. The more we can learn about all of this can only help these women and hopefully, help the abusers change as well.

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    1. Cindy, you are doing such an important work. Thank you for participating. Here's an irony--Jen worked for Child Protective Services.

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  10. I was shocked when you first told me this story. Words seem inadequate. Still, my condolences. You never get over a loss that this.

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  11. How do you ever get over something like this? You don't. I am sorry for the pain and loss you live with every day.

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  12. My heart stopped for a second when I read this. My daughter died the very same day at the age of 19 (http://kateeileenshannon.com/2013/08/21/brigid/), also murdered. She had also had a serious head injury. A friend came to me after first meeting my daughter and said she didn't know how to say this, and I would think she was nuts, but Brigid would die at someone else's hand. I wish I had listened but I did think she was nuts. She is with me every minute of every day so I understand how you feel. When I named my protagonist after her, people thought it was some weird tribute or virtual shrine or something. I just explain that Brigid was such a bossy little miss that if she was here and I told her I was writing a book, she would have insisted she be the star. To write a real book about the real Brigid is something I doubt I would ever have the strength to do. My heart goes out to you, Sheila.

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    1. Wow, Eileen--that's a very strange coincidence. Thank you for sharing it. Your poem also reminds me of the one I wrote for Jen (she was 27) on the day of her funeral.
      I hope that you, too, have the comfort of knowing Brigid is still very connected to you. Was the killer caught?

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    2. We knew who it was. It was a very circumstantial case and when the decision was made that she was brain dead, I had the detectives in and the ADA. They told me a conviction would be difficult and my son and I would go through a lot. I was going ahead. But then I discovered in FL law, if there is to be an autopsy, they could not remove all the tubes and needles, etc. and it was more important to me and my son that we could get in the bed and hold her for the tiny bit of time after the plug was pulled. There is some tiny bit of justice though. The man has no quality of life left between his former employers and the local police, lost his home, was turned away by his relatives... I have to be content with that.

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  13. Sheila ~ you are such a courageous woman, and I too thank you for sharing your story. I can only wish you peace and healing.

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  14. I know the telling is both painful and helpful. Mothers are not supposed to bury their children. I lost my grown son to another murderer--cancer. God helped me through it all.

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  15. What am amazing bunch of stories have been told here--so much pain and so much strength. Thank you all for sharing.
    Marilyn--I used to ask myself whether it was worse to lose your child instantly, as I did, or to watch him or her waste away, as you did. The fact is, there is no worse. Either way we are left with loss.
    Kate-Eileen (which is it?), you made the best choice for you, and your daughter's killer will continue to pay. I don't believe in a burning hellfire, but I do believe we have to account for what we do. Two favorite books: One Last Time by John Edward, and Journey of Souls by Michael Newton.

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  16. We are all connected on the other side. Your honesty and courage are a testament to your character and your daughter knows this of you.

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  17. We are all connected on the other side. Your honesty and courage are a testament to your character and your daughter knows this of you.

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  18. We are all connected on the other side. Your honesty and courage are a testament to your character and your daughter knows this of you.

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  19. I used to think I knew what to say, but you have heard it all. Life is not fair but it's all we've got that we are sure about. The world hasn't been getting any better lately. I'm sorry that you and your child were in the vanguard of the age of violence and I am amazed and glad you have been able to make it make any sort of sense. It is what it is and we carry on until we don't. You've done well with your life and have made what you've gone through count. That is the best that can happen. :-(

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  20. Sheila, when I saw the title for this entry, I had to wait. I knew I could not read it, not at first. I had to prepare myself. The preparation wasn't good enough.

    So all I'll say is, regarding your advice about abusers - yes. We need to know more, inform more, and provide more support for the victims and consequences for the abusers. Yes, we need to that.

    Thank you, for your courage. Thank you for sharing. And may the memory - and presence - of your daughter be a source of blessings, in this world and the world to come.

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