Newsletter Page Six - Vol. 2, Issue 1

A Sister's Journey
By Karen Simmonds

“Lynda has runaway…again”, my mother solemnly stated. I was sixteen years old, Lynda was only fourteen.

As I remember that moment, my senses awaken to the tone of my mother’s voice, the embrace of her arms, and the pain and anxiety in the pit of my stomach. That fretful day was August 16, 1977, twenty-five years ago. At times, it seems like only yesterday.

As Lynda had been labeled as a ‘chronic runaway’, little or no help was given to locate her; feelings of confusion, fright, anger, guilt and overwhelming sadness crept in. I kept my feelings bottled up inside and felt uncomfortable sharing with anyone due to the mystery of the situation.

I grew up very fast during the 11th grade, helping care for our little sister Jane, and the house. My father and I would follow up on leads that came in about Lynda, while my mother became lost in her pain and turned to alcohol to sooth it. No one ever talked about the loss of Lynda, or how we felt about our loss. Looking back, it must have been easier for everyone to bury the pain and go on with their lives.

When a family member is missing, it is hard to pinpoint feelings. I never allowed the thought of Lynda being anything but alive and open discussion of Lynda’s disappearance between family, friends, or strangers was discouraged.

As the years went by, life went on. The societal stigma of a runaway loomed over our heads…there must be something wrong with our family or with Lynda. I am sure the guilt my parents felt was overwhelming. I took a second look at any teenage girl with blonde hair and wished upon the same star every night for Lynda to return. These became my searching and yearning rituals, lasting over twenty years.

Follow-up calls from the police became non-existent and conversations about Lynda ceased. Family photos were buried and Lynda’s personal items were put away forever. I now realize that when the talking stopped, the pain grew and festered inside of all of us

In 1981, my father died of a sudden heart attack at the age of 51. The loss of Lynda became buried under this new loss. As my mother grew more despondent, I became the caregiver of the family and realized that I must take care of myself. I built protective barriers to protect my feelings—not allowing anyone to get ‘too close’ for fear of being hurt. These became the coping skills that allowed me to get on with my life.

I attended college, moved to Toronto, and started a successful career with a financial institution. As my mother and sister dealt with alcoholism, drug addictions, depression and suicide attempts, I believed that it was my responsibility to ‘fix them’. It took me years to realize that only they could help themselves. Still, no one talked about the multiple losses in our lives.

As the family caregiver, I became Lynda’s advocate, but nothing ever came up. Finally, one day I broke down. I remember the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. I could not understand what was happening to me—I had always been able to push the feelings down and ‘get on with it’. I reached out for help and was referred to a grief specialist, another event that changed the course of my life.

As the layers started to peel away, pain, guilt, fear, sadness, and anger were revealed. Out of the pain came answers to questions that burned in my mind for years. I began to see myself as a person and not a caretaker. I began to bloom.

In 1999, a ‘cold-case’ investigation was started into Lynda’s disappearance.

It was discovered that Lynda was killed in a hit-and-run accident only fourteen months after she left our home in Jacksonville, Florida. In April 2000, I brought Lynda home and buried her with our mother, who died in 1994, and father. Our younger sister Jane, was unable to attend Lynda’s memorial as her drug addiction had taken over her life.

Though this is a tragic story, promise, hope and joy has bloomed. With the peace of knowing where Lynda is, I have been able to mourn and heal. I could not have done it without the support of my husband, children, friends, and a wonderful grief counsellor.

This experience has taken me to new heights within myself and I’ve found my vocation in life: to help the bereaved. In the past two years, I have had the honour of speaking at countless schools and organizations about my life story. This is an opportunity for others to share their stories and heal, something I feel very blessed to be apart of. Lynda has become my inspiration and through me, an inspiration to others.

Thank you Lynda, for being part of my life journey.

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