My heart hurts. It has been a week since I took the call telling me that news cameras were amassing outside the home of my friend Kerilyn Johnson. Murder. Her name and that word were two words I never thought I would hear in the same utterance. In that hour, my knees buckled, and I cried so hard, my son ran to get Gregory who came into the house to my sobs, and the horrific news. My friend since the fourth grade, who I literally cannot remember not seeing for less than at least ten minutes a day growing up (and sometimes many hours a day in rehearsals and touring and performance because of church, school and living in our neighborhood) was gone. More than gone. Someone murdered her. Her husband murdered her.
“Not Kerilyn! Not murder! No! No! No! No! No!”
No matter how many times I refreshed the internet feed on my phone, the story wouldn’t go away. It was true.
Kerilyn’s was the life that always seemed charmed. More than once as I have faced the fires of loss, grief and trauma, I have said to Gregory “some people just live a life that is happy all the time. They never have to hurt. It seems they always have things set and always get everything they want. I must be the opposite. I must be cursed.”
When I’ve said this, Gregory always tells me everyone has troubles. I always have rebutted with “No! Not Kerilyn. Look at her life…from elementary to Jr. High to High School to our college years in Utah County to my window into her world as a mother and performer…not her. Her life is perfect. She’s perfect. Her music career is perfect. Her kids are perfect. Her life is perfect and no sorrow. No loss. No pain, ever.”
And then last Friday came, and the realization that there must have been pain. There must have been trauma. There must have been private hells nobody knew of. How else could someone murder the mother of his children, and leave his body and hers for their children to find them?
The thought guts me.
I’m angry. I’ll probably be angry forever.
I’ve mostly stayed off social media after seeing the barrage of expressions online about Kerilyn. At one point, in the middle of a series of very long and sleepless nights, I knew I had to mute all posts about her…especially posts about the funeral.
As someone who has had to learn to navigate around trauma triggers after the death of my four-year-old son Wesley (a time when Kerilyn was an angel in my life) I knew that regardless of circumstances, I could not attend her viewing or her funeral.
Viewings are triggers. Caskets are triggers. The smell of flowers and chapels are triggers. Organ music is a trigger. Weeping is a trigger. I just can’t.
I have also struggled with the knowing that even if I could manage my triggers, I likely could not traverse the mountain of anger I have for Kerilyn’s husband for what he has done, sufficient to get to the other side of the mountain and down into the valley of the shadow of Kerilyn’s death on the day of her funeral. I respect those who can. Her children need you on that horrific day.
I feel guilty for feeling the way I feel. Horrible guilt. I should be a bigger person. I should be able to go stand at her casket and say a final goodbye. I should be able to add my voice to the hundreds who will gather back home to sing final hymns to her and her family in the hopes of assuaging their pain. At times, I’ve been on my knees over the guilt asking for help and perspective from my creator.
This morning at 3:30 am…one week after the murder…the grace and perspective came.
A still small voice that whispered: IT IS OK TO SHOW LOVE IN DIFFERENT WAYS.
Into my mind came the memory of the throngs of people who came to my son Wesley’s funeral. Because I had been on television in Utah for more than a decade, because Wesley’s death was so public, and because I was blessed with friendships and relationships as dynamic as those Kerilyn earned and enjoyed, Wesley’s funeral was a loving spectacle.
The Governor and First Lady of the State of Utah, Jon and Mary Kaye Huntsman were speakers. Every popular female television anchor in Utah, including the magnanimous Ruth Todd and Barbara Smith and Nicea Degering and Reagan Leadbetter spoke at the pulpit. Grammy-Winning singer Joslyn Petty serenaded us. Concert pianist Mary Anne Huntsman played gorgeously on the piano. And Kerilyn. Sweet Kerilyn. She opened Wesley’s funeral with the plea of my heart and her heart that day, singing “I need thee every hour.”
And you know what? Other than knowing that hundreds of people were in the chapel, packed in the halls, and standing outside the building, I couldn’t tell you who sat more than two rows behind me. I was overwhelmed and exhausted and broken. I just knew the crowd was big. People gathered to show real, true love. And I appreciate each and every one of them.
But after the funeral, life got painfully quiet. The phone didn’t ring while my grief and trauma raged. Life stayed quiet while I lived out many messes trying to put my life together after the bomb dropped that took my precious son away.
Let me be clear. I don’t fault anyone. The years have taught me people just didn’t have the language or the know-how to walk with the victims of catastrophic loss after the expressions of love at a funeral. People don’t naturally know how to help someone who many days is inconsolable, out of their right mind, and wandering the earth swinging fists one moment and shivering under the darkness of a pile of blankets the next.
And on reflection, I know after the funeral, after the public displays of love and remembrance, that’s when the real work and real opportunity presents itself to not only learn the healer’s art, but to also be a balm to the broken.
And receiving the whisper as I did this morning “IT IS OK TO SHOW LOVE IN DIFFERENT WAYS,” my mind was opened to what I know will be my work for Kerilyn and the people who raised her and grew up with her.
I want to commit to being there for them in the quiet months that are to come. I want them to know I’m there for them on the one-month anniversary. I want them to know that I’m there for them when the first holidays come. I want them to know I’m there for them when the Thanksgiving and Christmas tables seem empty. They may not need or want me, and that’s ok. But I will make sure that they know I am there for them showing my love in a different way than I feel able to right now.
IT IS OK TO SHOW LOVE IN DIFFERENT WAYS.
Look, I know from many private conversations that some of you are grappling with the same feelings as I have faced this week. And I want you to know what I know about Kerilyn and her family. They are loving, giving, sweet, understanding, kind, gentle and compassionate people. They are not judgmental. So…be loving, giving, sweet, understanding, kind, gentle and compassionate to yourself for feeling what you feel at this moment in time. But please, commit to showing love in different ways if you need to and continuing that love after the funeral.
If you didn’t know Kerilyn’s family as I came to know them during my youth, and want to show love past the funeral, may I share with you some of the traits I know they possess that are beautiful so that maybe you have a head-start when you reach out a week later, a month later, or when your spirit prompts you to?
I won’t say their names, out of respect for their privacy, but if you are close enough to know Kerilyn, you will know who I am speaking of.
Kerilyn’s mother is a woman with no guile. She is kind. She smiles easily. She has a lovely laugh…a pretty speaking voice. And, you will not meet another mother more proud of her children and grandchildren than is she. Hold her hand and listen to her. I know dialogue and proximity are something she enjoys…especially when cheering her children’s successes.
Kerilyn’s father is a man whose language is service. I’ve seen him work side by side selling fruit in the summer sun with men most people wouldn’t give a job to. He shares easily. He’s a servant. He loves music and knows how to play instruments. A shared love of music and service just might be what he needs from you on a random and hurting Tuesday or Wednesday or other day when your heart whispers to you.
Kerilyn’s oldest sister is like her mother. Dance is her language. She will likely store this trauma and pain in her body, and work with her creator in the expression of that pain through dancing. Invite her to dance. Take her to a yoga class. Breathe with her as the trauma leaves her cells in inches over the years. She is a good, kind person with a beautiful family. Love her. She is also my old friend.
Kerilyn’s oldest brother is a sterling leader who reminds me of the best traits of their dad and mom combined. He was also my childhood friend, who smiled easily, had a lovely raspy-voiced laugh, and someone in whom I never knew to have guile. Because he’s a leader, he may have times when he feels like he has to be strong for others. Help him to know it’s ok to fall apart. Catch him when he does.
Kerilyn’s two youngest brothers are also lovely. They were small children and then young teens the last time I interacted with them, but when you find them in the months and years to come, you will find tender hearts, easy smiles, abundant openness. Please, when you spend time with them, help them to see the light of their sister in their children. I know it must be an inherited and lovingly nurtured trait.
Kerilyn’s youngest sister is a walking billboard for what a smile should be. Along with Kerilyn’s oldest sister, I once plucked this youngest sister from a summer canal, undoing the collar of her shirt under water from an irrigation pipe, and felt her take her first breaths after being underwater long enough for us to realize she wasn’t surfacing. That radiant smile of hers may have times when it feels underwater. Hold her above the current of grief, and let her know it’s ok to breathe through pain.
In writing this, I’m not sure how my words will be received. I hope you’ll offer me grace and compassion in this offering. I want those of you who are struggling with how and when to show love to know, the real work begins after the funeral. I want you to know it's ok to commit to loving in new and different ways these lovely people after what I am sure will be a beautiful expression of love for Kerilyn at her funeral.
Thanks for considering my thoughts, and Kerilyn, I love you.
Darrin Reed Cowan
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