My only son, Doug, then 23, disappeared December 3, 1992. His body was found Feb. 4, 1993. (Nothing remained of the back of his head after 14 blows with an ax--one blow was across the bridge of his nose; his murderer was unable to decapitate or dismember Doug's body.) The story of his murder will be on "Psychic Witness" TLC channel in Feb. or March 2006; they interviewed me in Nov. This is a true account of Christmas Eve 1992.
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Prior to my son, Doug's, disappearance on December 3, 1992, we made plans with Al's three grown children to go visit them in Utah for Christmas. Detectives investigating the case, suggested that we keep our plans but give them the telephone number where we could be located. We stayed with Al's second daughter, Lisa, her husband, Richard, and their three children. They were living in the refurbished basement of Richard's parents' farm house … not far from a Franciscan monastery.
We'd visited the monastery several times on previous visits as they had a store open to the public where they sold silver medallions, assorted flavors of honey (that they made themselves), crucifixes, etc. We usually bought honey for ourselves and for Al's parents' so went there shortly after we arrived.
The monastery is composed of several white-washed, old stucco buildings with red tiled roofs, an old barn, a chapel and a separate building with quarters for the monks (who have taken a vow of silence with the exception of the Friar working in their store). They have a huge bee-keeping area, acres of wheat and grain, plus a spread of cattle—all of which is done 'the old way' and they sell their surplus to the public.
My father was a Protestant; Mom was Pentecostal. Although my belief is more Protestant than Pentecostal, we attended a Pentecostal church after Dad died. I was a religion minor in college and, at one time, considered becoming a nun.
Al was raised a Catholic but became a Protestant. Now he questions religion altogether.
Richard and his parents' are devote Mormons as are his and Lisa's children.
Lisa was raised a Protestant.
I respect all religions and, with my son missing, wanted to spend time in 'God's House' … praying for my son's safe return.
Even though the store was separate and distinct from the religious areas, I felt God's presence there. After buying some silver medallions, I requested the Friar to please 'bless them'. As I dropped the silver into his open palm for him to count them, the Friar reacted with a jolt. "You are in pain?"
"My heart is breaking." I stammered … trying to keep from tearing up again. It was hard to pretend that nothing was remiss, to go on with a Merry Christmas when my son was missing.
"Talk to me, I care." He softly intoned.
The words stuck in my mouth, I could only bite my lips or else my composure would fail me. Al, nearby, came to my rescue. I wandered aside, not wishing to listen, while he explained to the monk what 'my problem was'.
When I turned around to the Friar, his head was bent and he was 'blessing' my medallions. I returned to his desk, he placed the silver into my hands and kept his hands around mine. "Your son is in Heaven … with the angels. Fear not, he is safe, but you will not find peace unless you accept the will of God."
"No, no, I stammered," that wasn't what I wanted to hear. "I want him back … alive."
The Friar spoke firmly but comforted me. "You ask God to do a miracle! It isn't that He can't do miracles but, alas, these days He doesn't choose to undo what men have done. If you will say the Lord's Prayer repeatedly until you mean it in your heart and soul, you will find your son. God loves you and doesn't want you suffering. However, your faith is fragile and you must first accept that death is but the completion of our circle of life. Our souls live forever! We should jubilantly celebrate that your son, who was God's gift to you, is beside our Savior in Heaven."
We both bowed our heads as the Friar prayed for me and my faith, that upon my 'seeing the light', that my prayers would be answered.
He then invited all of us to Christmas Eve services in their chapel where the monks would sing hymns that others might be 'lifted'.
"Please, can we come back then?" I begged.
All of them nodded.
I paid for my purchases, we left and at 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve, we returned. I dropped in to say, 'hi', to the Friar and he directed us to the Chapel.
We all went in and found the Cathedral over-whelming. It was so huge inside—the ceiling was higher than any church I'd ever been in—and a monk, in the customary brown hooded robe, was playing the pipe organ.
I put the prayer stool down, knelt and felt enveloped by God's loving embrace. I was filled with awe as tears cascaded down both cheeks. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and was caught up by a divine feeling of being adrift in a galaxy of stars. Angels flew about, dabbed at my errant tears, and sang … though I understood not a word.
The music of the hymns loomed about me, familiar yet foreign, and the monks voices rose to merge with those of the angels. It was bliss, enchanting, salve for my weary, worn broken heart. My soul was cradled in tender hands, rocked, soothed.
Al tapped me on the shoulder, I opened my eyes and saw the monks trailing out, the services over. I slid back upon the pew, looked at the strange look upon the familiar faces about me.
"Are you feeling better?" Lisa asked with a look of genuine concern on her face.
"I'm a little puzzled." I admitted. "I heard the beautiful music but didn't understand a word that they sang."
All of them exchanged grins. Al smiled and said, "Sandy, honey, they were singing in Latin!"
I almost burst out laughing in the Cathedral. The others seemed ready to burst out too. However, we all made it outside before we started laughing simultaneously. "Why didn't you tell me it was in Latin?" I puzzled. "We didn't have to stay for the entire service. How long was it anyway?"
"An hour and a half," Lisa shrugged, "but you seemed to be enjoying it so much that we didn't mind staying with you."
We all hugged each other and my sorrow was somewhat lighter. Despite our different religious upbringings, religion was put aside because one of us was 'suffering'.
I know of no greater love than to love unconditionally … I found God in a church, in a language, foreign to me. How great is His love to be there for each and every one of us regardless of who we are, our language, where we live or how great our need!
P.S. Yes, I did repeat the Lord's Prayer many times daily … until 'knowing where my son was became the most important thing'.
Doug's body was found buried in the backyard, beneath the wood pile, of an acquaintance on Feb. 4, 1993
Oh Sandy, your story is so sad yet so beautiful. I saw peace, sorrow, life, death, compassion, anguish, denial, acceptance, God's gift when the Friar spoke to you, and Love. Thank you for sharing.
Powerful and heartwrenching write, Sandy; I don't know how you do it...you have had such tragedy and misfortune in your life; yet you go on. It is only by the Grace and Mercy of a Loving God that gets you through these awful times in your life; you are in my prayers now more than ever! It is never easy, but God will help you if you continue to rely on Him!
I pray for peace and courage during this difficult time in your life!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :( >tears <
((((Sandra))))
This one was a hard write to read you have been through so much, and I will keep you in my prayers
God Bless
Michellez~
Reviewed by Judy Lloyd
12/5/2004
This is very sad and like you I would find this very difficult to accept. I still remember what it was like to have to go with my sister to identify her husband. The question of why remains but I trust that you can somehow make peace with this. I offer my mother's prayers as well. God bless you.
you have faced so much tragedy in your life, i don't know how you keep on going...i'm sorry for your loss. :( a powerfully written rememberance no one should have to go through. :(
Prior to my son, Doug's, disappearance on December 3, 1992, we made plans with Al's three grown children to go visit them in Utah for Christmas. Detectives investigating the case, suggested that we keep our plans but give them the telephone number where we could be located. We stayed with Al's second daughter, Lisa, her husband, Richard, and their three children. They were living in the refurbished basement of Richard's parents' farm house … not far from a Franciscan monastery.
