Joyce’s Story
My childhood began in a safe, secure, loving home. Dad was a successful business owner, mom stayed at home to raise my brother and I. Family was everything and our home was a place filled with love.
My father was very intelligent and sharp minded. Always looking ahead for a new challenge or opportunity. He began playing the game of backgammon. His style was always to make the most of everything, taking it to the limit, so ordinary games turned into weekend tournaments and a new lifestyle. During this new hobby, he was introduced to cocaine.
From that moment on, our home, family and lives changed.
Casual, social drug use turned into addiction. New friends started appearing, drugs were sold from our home, Dad’s attention turned away from family and addiction took root as he began a downward spiral. He lost his business, severely damaged his marriage with adultery and domestic violence. Finally, my mother took my brother and I and left him and our house to go live in her hometown 6 hours away where we made a fresh start. Eventually, Dad decided he wanted his family back and moved to where we were living. He and Mom reconciled.
He was again our loving father for a little while.
It isn’t easy to escape drugs or the temptation they bring and Dad again began using and selling drugs. This led to another adulterous relationship, but the scorned husband didn’t sit idly back. Jealousy and rage toward my dad ravaged his heart. He somehow convinced his son who lived across the country to come and help him deal with the problem.
On June 9, around 4:00 AM, I heard a knock on the door. Due to my father’s lifestyle, people came at all times to our home, so this wasn’t unusual. Through the door, I asked who it was and heard a mumbled reply which I thought was “Fred”. Dad had a friend by that name, so I went to wake him up. He immediately got up from bed to answer the door. I stopped a little bit behind him to see who it was.
As Dad opened the door, a gun appeared and shots began to be fired.
It sounded like firecrackers and I went to the kitchen window and watched as the man was quickly running away. Dad fell on the floor in the foyer bleeding, but his breathing could still be heard. 911 was called and quickly responded, but he succumbed to his injuries.
This tragedy occurred 8 days before my wedding day. Believing Dad would want us to continue on with our plans,
our family gathered for a funeral and a wedding in the same week.
The person who shot my father was arrested only hours after the crime and the court procedures began. It was an 8 month journey filled with depositions and decisions on whether to accept a plea for a lesser charge. Our family agreed to accept a plea offer and the defendant was sentenced to 22 years in prison.
Through the period of awaiting justice, our family’s focus was on the defendant, trying to find out who he was in life and how he was driven to commit this crime. Resentment, a spurring on for him to receive his due punishment kept us moving each day. Once the sentence came, we began to live our new normal.
When our minds let go of pursuing justice, our hearts began to heal. We saw this young man as a person used and deceived and felt pity for him and his ruined life.
We knew forgiveness must take place in our hearts before we found true peace and healing.
There was much to be thankful for. Life continued on and we began to walk through the stages of grief. Grief counselling helped identify the physical symptoms and faith began to bring healing, but a deeper longing began to rise up, one to help others going through situations like this. Our small town opened up the position of a victim advocate to assist crime victims with emotional support and to walk them through the often unknown court proceedings. I met Lois after our court journey, but felt an immediate connection with her. When others would appear uncomfortable talking about the situation, she listened and shared encouragement.
There is no greater comfort to one hurting than for someone who has experienced similar circumstances to come along beside them and share the experience of this path of pain and assure them, they will be able to get through it.
My cherished experience with this happened with a family who had lost their son a few months before my father’s murder. I was working as a waitress and this couple frequently came as my customers. A relationship formed where we learned about each other’s family and interests. Their son was tragically killed and although sympathy was offered, it wasn’t until my family’s trauma that I appreciated the connection our shared experience brought. This couple came to my father’s funeral, and simply their presence gave deep comfort to our hearts. I will never forget our hug on the funeral home steps—
a common pain brought broken hearts together and true comfort flowed between us.
My story is over 30 years old. Memories are always a breath away, but time has brought healing and God’s comfort and grace are always present. Through those years, a marriage began and a family of 3 sons was formed. Long days but short years passed and my story was pushed to the background due to the busyness of a full life.
A new season of life with children grown and moving into their own lives has given my life a larger portion of free time. The desire to bring comfort to those experiencing trauma has never left my heart and is increasing as opportunities have come to share the hope and healing Jesus brings. One of my favorite verses is II Corinthians 2:3-4, "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."
I am prayerfully seeking God for opportunities to be a comfort to others.
Trusting Him to open the doors and allow me to be a conduit of His love, mercy and grace.