I don’t remember how many times he stabbed her, but it was a lot.
Homicides were rare in our little mountain town, but unfortunately, even the friendliest communities are not immune to the dark side of humanity.
In those days, I was a young police lieutenant looking forward to the end of my work day, because I had a date that night with a beautiful young woman.
But fate had other plans for my evening.
A man stabbed his girlfriend to death in one of our local trailer parks. He poured laundry detergent over her body, presumably to mask the eventual stench of decomposition. Her body was abandoned inside the debris and disarray of their recreational vehicle.
He fled the scene in his car and later crashed somewhere in the county. He was injured and transported to the hospital for treatment.
At the time, no one knew he had murdered his girlfriend.
Bruce, the police department’s detective sergeant (as well as a mentor and good friend) mobilized our detectives and worked the crime scene. I was the incident commander, coordinating the overall investigation and liaison with county law enforcement and Department of Justice crime scene investigators.
It was a long night, and I had to phone my date and tell her our evening out would have to be rescheduled.
A county-wide manhunt ensued. The suspect’s truck was found at one of the county cemeteries, and it was later determined that the suspect had spent the night there, sleeping beside his mother’s gravesite.
Sleeping beside his mother’s gravesite.
Something about that detail always stuck with me. A man murders his girlfriend, runs from authorities, and faces the unraveling of his life. His whole world has imploded. He knows that he’s out of options and the future is bleak.
So where does he go?
Where does he seek unconditional love and solace? Where does this broken soul end up?
His mother’s gravesite.
When trials heavy and sudden fall upon us
My father passed away in 2004 and all that remained of my nuclear family was my mother and sister.
My mother, Patricia Weiss, announced a year after my father’s passing that she’d like to adopt the nickname “Nanny Pat.” Perhaps because she often babysat for my son.
Watching my mother interact with my son took me back to my childhood. She was always loving and supportive.
During the summers when I used to play competitive tennis at the local community college, Mom would sometimes show up with hot fudge sundaes for me and my buddies.
On weekends after sleepovers at friends’ houses, Mom would pick me up and surprise me with a giant apple fritter.
“A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.”—Washington Irving
No mother is perfect, and my mother struggled with alcohol addiction her whole adult life. But her love and support never wavered.
It wasn’t always easy looking after her as she aged. She was a Parkinson’s patient, and I had to lift her into my vehicle to take her to doctor and dentist appointments. But the time we spent together, and the conversations we enjoyed were always wonderful.
Mom passed away in my arms in 2021.
She had always been my biggest supporter and fan, even when I didn’t deserve it. I could do no wrong in her eyes. Which is why it’s so devastating to lose that kind of unconditional love.
It’s probably why the man who stabbed his girlfriend to death fled to his mother’s grave. No doubt he knew that his life was over. And that he had failed to live up to his potential.
But a part of him also knew that his mother loved him, no matter what. Because that’s what mothers do.
They love us unconditionally.
Children are knives
Sometimes we don’t deserve the love of our mothers.
Some kids are just terrible. Maybe they mean it, and maybe they don’t. But some kids put their mothers through the wringer.
And yet their mothers still love them.
“Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.”—Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow
Maybe in a broken world full of flawed people, the unconditional love of mothers is the closest we can get to absolution. When all else fails, at least we have Mom to embrace us, forgive us our sins, and reassure us that everything will be alright.
And while we’re talking about mothers, we should not exclude stepmothers. Our 16th President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, would never have achieved what he did if not for the love and guidance of Sarah Lincoln, his stepmother.
“Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.”—Robert A. Heinlein, Have Space Suit — Will Travel
Mothers seem to have a divine spark in them, probably because they are the ones who bring life into this world, and/or nurture it. Yes, fathers play an important role, but mothers do the heavy lifting of pregnancy, birth, and maternal nurturing.
And stepmothers bring a kind of gentle love and support that children so desperately need. It’s a different kind of love than what fathers provide.
Yes, some mothers fall short.
That’s the tragedy. When mothers fail to love and nurture. The best we can do when that happens is find a place in our hearts to forgive.
Because we might never know what wounds or life circumstances betrayed their natural inclination towards motherly love.
The purest love you will ever know
When my mother drew her last breath in my arms, I felt a profound shift in my soul.
I knew that I lost something I would never get back. A mother’s unconditional love, support, and unshakable belief in my life and potential.
Surely spouses, loved ones, and friends play a vital part in our emotional health and life journeys. But the love of a mother is like a kind of holy relationship, borne of a lifetime of nurturing, love, and support.
“I realized when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.”—Mitch Albom, For One More Day
This is why Mother’s Day is so important.
Our lives get busy, and priorities blur. One day we’re focused on work. The next day we’re dealing with our kids. And we need to make time for our spouses. It’s easy to take Mom for granted.
She’s always there, right?
But the reality is that Mom won’t be there forever. The days and years march forward, and time has a way of using us up. We become old and frail.
We must make the time.
Visit our mothers. Take them out. Remind them how much we love them. Not just with words but with actions. Forgive their shortcomings. Celebrate their sacrifices and love.
“Love ’em while you got ‘em,” as my wife often says.
Children sleep soundly in them
A murder story may seem like a dark way to celebrate Mother’s day.
But it captures the lifelong impact a mother has on her children, even when her children fall from grace. Prison records reflect mothers who regularly visit their incarcerated children. These children may be society’s broken and forgotten souls, but a mother’s love still celebrates her children’s innocence and promise.
Fallen children still long for love, and when everyone else has long abandoned them, mothers are often the only lifeline of forgiveness, love, and hope.
“A mother’s arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.”—Victor Hugo
I don’t know if the man who stabbed his girlfriend to death in our town is still in prison, or even alive. And I don’t know what led him to such a heinous crime.
All I know is that he fled to his mother’s gravesite.
I believe that a part of him knew he wasted his life and damaged his soul. And the only person he could turn to, the only one he knew would still love him, was his mother.
That’s the power of motherly love.
So wherever you are, reach out to your mother. Tell her how much you love her. And if she failed you in some way, then find it in your heart to forgive her.
Whether she’s in this world or the next.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. If you enjoyed this piece, check out my free weekend newsletter, The Saturday Letters.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
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Photo of “Nanny Pat” by John P. Weiss
