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Helene will always be missed. The fact that so many friends are still thinking of her 26 years after her murder is testimony to how much she gave in life.   The space below has been reserved for the sharing of memories, thoughts, reflections, letters and poems written to and for Helene...

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January 9, 2006

Dear Helene...

When I saw you there, sitting on the stairs
Alone in company with your thoughts
I mustered up the courage to ask if I could join you.

You smiled and said "yes."
I smiled, and took a breath, and then I sat down next to you
A tender moment of silence
A tingle of anticipation
And softly, gently, with kindness
we asked each other questions, and ventured answers.
Quietly, in our own space, our own world,
The laughter of our friends echoing above and below us.

I am still that trembling boy
Looking for a sweet young woman to provide him with life's answers.

And now I am that sweet young woman
Looking for someone to join me in exploring life's wonderful mysteries.

I am the man from another universe
A tortured soul from the hell realm
Abandoned, abused, lost
Seeking to end his torment
By raping, torturing and killing Helene.

I am the detective who arrived on the murder scene
Who bore witness to this young woman's crucifixtion
Who has slept for years with the movie of her execution
Playing in his mind
Who will continue to work this case until the killer is found.

I am Helene's father, haunted and uncomprehending
Seeking the answer to the greatest of life's mysteries:
Why did my daughter have to die this way?

And I am Helene's mother, grieved beyond relief
Still keening for my baby who never came home.
I remember when the formless sobs welling from deep within me
Merged in my imagination with my daughter's wrenching final breaths

I am Helene's sister,
and there is a hole in my life
that will never be filled.
My little sister is gone, and
I have no one to turn to for solace.
Remember how we used to play?

I am Helene's friends -
devastated, numbed, and shocked
into a 25-year silence.

And I am the friend who woke up
and led the charge to re-open the case
and find Helene's killer.

I am world-weary John Q. Public,
whose newspaper, television, movies and internet
is saturated with the blood of beautiful young women
who have been brutalized, raped, and murdered.

And I am an inmate at a medium-security prison
who hears the pain in my teacher's voice
when he tells me the story of Helene.

I am the drug-addicted mother who gave birth to Helene's killer,
Who hallucinated often, and when he was six, tried to drown him.
And I am the killer's father, who was beaten and raped by my own father.
To hide the pain, I did the same thing to my son.

I am the Hamilton socialite who doesn't want to hear this dreary story,
And I am Helene's friends,
who have re-awakened their love for her and her family.

I am the people who have been touched by Helene's kindnesses
in ways large and small.

And I am the roses that Helene held to her chest, and breathed in.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

~ written by Jonathan Shailor

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