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Every day during the week, my daughter Holly would walk home from school, which was just at the end of our street in the west end of Toronto. A lot of her classmates lived between the school and our house, so she’d often stop at a friend’s, but she’d call to let me know. On Monday, May 12, 2003, she came straight home. She brought this shy, beautiful little girl, whom she had made friends with. She was young; Holly was in grade 5, the girl was in grade 4. My daughter told me that the child was new to the school and people weren’t nice to her, so she had decided to look after the little girl. It made Holly feel older; it made her feel good.

The two kids were playing chess. My husband had just taught Holly how to play, so she was teaching the girl the game in our living room. When they finished, they went upstairs to her room to play dress-up. They were pretending they were musicians. Holly was into singing, and we dressed her up as a rock star one Halloween. She and another friend were even in a band together, called the Evil Angels. This day, Holly and the little girl were dressing up like Britney Spears. She put on a pair of boots that a girlfriend had given me – they had wedge heels. We wore the same size shoes, so they fit her.

After a while, it was time for the little girl to go home. Holly asked, “Mom, can I please walk her home? Can I please?” I wondered why her mom wasn’t coming to get her, but Holly said that she had promised to take the girl home. Holly was never allowed to walk anywhere alone, except to go to school and back. The girl lived on the school route, and I was thinking about how proud Holly was to be able to walk her home.

It was a rainy spring day, so I put a sweater and a coat on her. She had a top underneath – one that was part of her costume. She asked if she should change, but I said, “Don’t worry, no one will ever see this.” I let her go, but I was upset about it. I was upset that the girl’s mother had put Holly in that situation. I said that she had to come straight home, that she shouldn’t stop at another friend’s to play. I said to myself, “When she gets home, I’m going to have a talk with her; she’s never to plan to walk anyone home again.” But she never made it home.

About half an hour after Holly left, I started to get angry. I figured she’d gone to a friend’s and had forgotten to call, so I went shopping, thinking she’d be back when I returned. It was still light out when I got home; if it had been dark, I would have been freaking out, because she’d never stay out after dark. I asked my 16-year-old son, who had just woken up from a nap, if he had seen her. He hadn’t. I phoned my husband, George, on his cell; they had talked about going to a movie, so I thought she was with him. She wasn’t.

At that point, I got really worried; I wasn’t mad at her anymore. I just kept saying to myself that she was at a friend’s house and had forgotten about the time. We were new to the area – we’d just moved in about five months before – so I didn’t know all the kids’ phone numbers. We walked up and down the street and went to the houses we knew. She wasn’t at any of them. And then it started getting dark.

It was a couple of hours at most since she’d walked her friend home. When the little girl’s mother said that Holly had left right after dropping her friend off, I immediately called the police. I knew something was horribly wrong.

The next day, the police found her body in pieces, along with her clothes and boots. It was all over the news. That bothered me, because I didn’t want people thinking that those were the boots she always wore. She never walked outside with those boots on, but I’d thought she was coming right back.

We were at the station when the news broke that her body had been found. When we got home my house was full of people, front to back. From then on, all through the summer and at her birthday and Christmas, people were at my door all the time. They wanted to come see and talk to me. People wanted hugs, and I gave them. I didn’t want to be mean to anybody, and I felt like I had to respond to anyone who was coming out and showing love toward my daughter. Somehow, it gave me a lot of strength.

It’s been six years since Holly left us, and we think about what happened to her every single day. For a long time, I wished I could stay in bed and cry, but that’s not good for my family or me and it will never bring Holly back. There’s a bad sickness in my stomach that I’ve had to learn to live with. Still, time goes by. You get a little bit stronger. But you don’t forget.

After Holly passed away, I’d never sleep. I couldn’t wait to get out of bed in the morning, because I’d just lie there and think. It’s not as bad anymore, but years ago I wouldn’t even lie down unless I knew I was about to pass out, because I couldn’t handle my mind. It’s still hard. I work at making sure I think about other things, like my businesses – I teach fitness classes and run a bed and breakfast out of my home. Even now, my mind often wanders. I think about Holly’s face and all her expressions. There’s a door there, and if I open it I look a little bit more, and I see a picture of her walking down the street. Then it starts to hurt, so I turn my attention to something else. But if I allow myself to go further, I have to step through another door. That’s where she’s being murdered after she was raped. That’s a dark door. That’s where everything is black. It’s a place I try never to go to, but it still happens. It could be once a month, or every day for a few days, or I might not think about it for a whole week.

Holly’s passing was hard on the whole family. For a long time, my husband and my three kids, who are now 22 to 24 years old, were so emotionally distraught that we weren’t normal. Although my kids were what kept me going, I wasn’t there for them as much as I should have been. There have been many times in the past when I would say that I didn’t feel well, but really I was just weak and sick of everything. It’s hard to fake high spirits and happiness.

The November after the first anniversary of Holly’s death, my husband and I separated. He had disappeared into his own world. We didn’t know how to help each other; it was too difficult. There was a lot going on in my head at that time. When I think back, I wonder: If I had done things differently, then maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad, but it’s too late now. When he left, it was a relief. But then I felt a huge loss because this home was our home. It was very hard for me to think clearly, and I didn’t know right from wrong.

There was a point when I thought we’d never get back together, but something inside of me hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I missed him and knew he was hurting a lot. We still had to communicate because of our kids, and during one of those calls I said, “Maybe we should talk.” He was so happy to talk to me. We decided that we should try to figure things out, so he moved back in. Our relationship is very good now, probably better than ever. I’m very thankful we worked it out, but it’s too bad I lost a couple of years with him. We still don’t talk about Holly, though. What would we talk about? We both miss her like crazy. If I have a breakdown and cry he’ll hug me, and vice versa, but that doesn’t happen often. We don’t need to ask each other what’s wrong because we already know.

What’s really gotten me through all of this has been work. It helps me keep going on with life. When I teach my fitness classes, and the music is playing, I go off into another world. I first went back to teach about three weeks after Holly died. The exercise and mingling were good for me, though I had to force myself to go. I just did a couple classes; I’d go for one hour and then come right back home and sit in the backyard again. I’m glad I went; otherwise, I would have just sat in the yard and drank herbal tea after herbal tea until it was a decent hour to drink wine.

I gradually increased my workload, though it took more than a year to get back into a full-time routine. Sometimes I couldn’t control the tears when I got there. A couple of times I even had to leave. I feel a lot better teaching now, but occasionally if a person brings a daughter to a class my mind races. I used to take Holly to my classes. She liked it and even started mimicking me. She was coming right up until she left. I remember her there, laughing, so clearly.

Of course, everything’s changed since Holly passed away. One day in particular that’s been altered forever is Mother’s Day, which is right around the time of year that she disappeared. That day is full of mixed emotions because I have other kids; I’m happy they’re there, but it’s not a complete happiness.

On Holly’s last Mother’s Day – the day before she was taken – she had made me a gift, but she gave it to a friend of mine to hold onto. She was so excited that she had made it for me, but my friend accidentally left after dinner without giving me the present. Holly called my friend and left a message for her; she put her hand around her mouth to whisper the message, but I could still hear her clearly. “I forgot to take my Mother’s Day gift. Do you still have it?” she said. I got the present the next morning, but I wanted to wait to open it with Holly there. When she came home from school, she was with her friend, so I thought we’d open the present after her friend left. Well, I never got to open it with Holly because she didn’t come back. I unwrapped it the next day: It was a heart-shaped key chain that said “Happy Mother’s Day” on one side and “I love you, Mom” on the other side. There was also the most loving, adorable note. I still carry that key chain.

This Mother’s Day we’ll get together, at either my place or my mom’s. We’ll make dinner; we work together as a family for supper, and everyone will bring something. It would hurt my kids if I didn’t do Mother’s Day, and I do enjoy it, even though I also have this sick feeling inside.

I’ve learned a lot since Holly died. If someone had asked me before, “What would you do if your daughter was murdered?” I would have said I’d have to be hospitalized. But I learned that somehow people can keep their strength through something like this. I’ve learned about friendship: I was surprised at how some friends were so supportive while others weren’t able to be there for me. I learned that everyone has their own way of coping. And I learned about love, especially that love can be so good, yet so painful. I also learned about child pornography. I knew nothing about it before, but Holly’s murderer was watching child pornography before he took her, so I had to learn about it. I am disgusted with what goes on. If you’re sitting there, viewing child pornography, you’re just about raping the girl yourself. Fortunately, issues around child pornography have become more public because of Holly’s story.

I feel more in control now, too. I never thought I’d laugh again, but I do. I smile more and I get together with friends and we laugh together. But I don’t enjoy the sunshine like I used to. When I get up and it’s sunny, I have a split second of “Oh, this is beautiful,” and then I think about Holly and it brings me back down. I know now that the sun will never shine bright enough. I will never be completely happy because reality always hits me whenever something good happens.

I often think about what the future will be like. I hope to God that I never forget the clear vision that I have of her face. In some ways it gets sadder every year, especially on her birthday because I don’t get to see her growing up; she would be 17 this year. The pain will never subside, but after years of heartache, I’m finally learning to live with this.

Appeared in Chatelaine’s May 2009 issue.