Another November 21st rolls around and it will never mean anything more to me but that my sister, Kathy, was found murdered on that day. At the age of 13, her life was snuffed out by a monster. A person, that in my opinion, is not a human being.
In 1971, Kathy was raped, brutally beaten, strangled, and left naked in the woods three miles from our home. The only piece of clothing left on her that cold November night was a pair of knee-high socks pulled down to her ankles. If that wasn’t horrific enough, she was run over by a car multiple times to make sure she was dead. Her murder was brutal, and it sent our family down a path of grieving like I’d never seen before. Tormented by her death, each of us just barely hung on to life.
Forty-seven years later, I still miss her, I still grieve the loss of her, and I still want her back. I can’t remember her voice, or her laugh, and it makes me sad. I wish I had the time to know her better, I was barely fifteen when it happened. We were never given the chance to have a future together, to watch each other grow, to see each other’s children, or enjoy nephews and nieces.
Her case is unsolved. It’s been forty-seven years of waiting for answers, anticipating an arrest, and hoping that someone would pay for what they did to her. In the meantime, I work to present the reality of unsolved cases to law enforcement and criminal justice students. I want them to understand that many of us never give up wanting justice for our loved one. I do it to honor Kathy.
I will always miss her, I still grieve her at times, and shed some tears, and that’s okay. I love her, and when you love someone that you miss, it’s normal, and don’t let anyone tell you different. I have learned to live in the new life forced upon me, but I also have learned that it’s okay to remember.
I love you, Kathy, I always will.