The Life And Death Of My Mother
June 24, 2011
The following is a speach that I wrote and read at the First Annual Domestic Violence Vigil for Cook Co, Adel, Ga. ( My Home Town )This is my story about an amazing woman who gave me life and the man that took hers away. It has been nine years today (Oct. 4, 2001) since my mother Anna Jean Wilcox was found burned to death in the back seat of a car on a long and lonely dirt road in Clinch County.
Before I go on, I have just a few questions. Do you know what it feels like to be just a young child and hear your father say to your mother, “If the child was not sitting in that back seat, I would run this truck under a semi and kill you,” or for him to hold a glass bottle over her head while driving on what was supposed to be a family vacation and threaten to kill her with it? Do you have any idea what it feels like to get off the school bus in the afternoons and peek through the windows of your own house, just to make sure that it was safe to go inside, or what it feels like to go to bed at night and beg God to please come and take you in your sleep?As a little girl and the youngest of three children, I was always the apple of my daddy's eye. He saw to it that his family never went without and he always made ends meet. I was his shadow, his footsteps. But the day I saw him raise his hand to my mother, my world fell apart. That man wasn't my dad; he was not the man I knew and loved. From that day on, he was never the same person. I went from being Daddy's little girl, to someone who was scared of him, and made myself believe that I hated him. The abuse on my mother, verbal and physical, became worse over time. There were times when I would not see them for two or three days because they would not come out of their bedroom until after I had went to bed and I knew why.
Late one night, as my mother sat in the rocking chair and my dad stood in front of her, he slapped her so hard that he knocked her glasses off, and he continued to do it over and over again. Not long after that night, my mom was rushed to South Georgia Medical Center and into surgery for a Subdural Hematoma, which means her brain was swelling and bleeding. The doctor said it was caused from a severe blow to the back of her head. My mother was never the same person after that. I knew I had to get out of that house as soon as I could. I graduated from high school in June of 1998, got my first job in August of the same year, and that is where I met my husband. I ran away and got married in December of 1998. I hated to leave her behind in that house at his hands, but at the same time I knew I had no choice. I blame myself for not staying and trying to protect her, and I often wonder if she would still be here today if I would have stayed. I just pray that she knows how much I loved her, and I pray that she does not hate me for leaving her there. I will never forget the last time I saw her. It was just a week before she died and she looked horrible and was nothing but skin and bones. That was not my mother standing before my eyes. I went home and cried for hours. Just a few days later, she called me and asked us to come eat supper with them. I lied to her and told her we had something to do. I just could not bear seeing her like that again. Little did I know that this would be the last time I’d ever get to talk to her. I don’t even know if I told her that I loved her or not. The abuse had gotten to the point if we stopped by just out of the blue to visit, either they would not answer the door or my dad would answer but not let us in the house. There was one occasion when my mom called and asked me if I would run to the store and get them a gallon of milk, but I was quickly informed that once I was there not to expect to come in the house. On another occasion, my brother went to visit and my father let him in but when he asked where my mother was, Dad told him that she was in the bedroom sick and that he could go in and see her, but not to turn on the light or open the curtains.
On Oct. 8, 2001, I received a call at work from a good friend of my family’s that was at the time an investigator for the Cook County Sheriff’s Office. He said to me, “Carla, I need you to come down to the Sheriff’s Office.” And of course me being me, I said to him, “I don’t have time to deal with you. I am at work.” That’s when the tone of his voice changed, and I knew something was wrong. I was at the Sheriff’s Office within just a matter of minutes, and when I walked in, there sat three GBI Agents. I just looked at them and said, “Is my mom OK?” At that very moment, you could have heard a pin drop in that room. They just looked at me and said, “Ma’am, a few days ago, we found a car burned with a female body in the back seat and it was registered to your father. Do you know where we can find him?” It is also believed that he used several five-gallon bucketfuls of gas and diesel to set the car on fire. He was arrested later that night and this is what he told police … “I did not kill my wife. She died at home of natural causes, wanted to be cremated and spread in the ocean. I was headed to the coast to put her in the water, set fire to the car so that someone would know that something had happened there, and kill myself so that we could be together. “But instead the car started acting up so I pulled down this dirt road, poured gas and diesel over the car, got back in the driver seat, and set fire to the car. I put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed and when the car exploded it blew me out. “I walked nearly 10 miles to a church, broke in, and spent the night in the church. I sat in the edge of the woods Sunday and listened to the church service, and when Monday came, two men came to fix the window that I had broken. And that’s when I held them at gunpoint and stole their truck. I headed back to our home to retrieve another gun so that I could go back to her and kill myself.” On Oct. 9, 2001, I, my sister, and my brother went to see my dad in the Clinch County Jail. We all went in at the same time, but I kind of lagged behind. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him or not. Soon as I walked in, he looked at me and said, “Carla, I did not kill your mother.”
Investigators say they don’t know if my mom was conscious or not when the car was set on fire, but they do know that she was alive. In January of 2002, three months after my mom died, the crime lab released her remains and we were finally able to hold a memorial service for my mother, and in February of 2003, my father was sentenced to prison for two life sentences plus 25 years. My life has been a living hell. I have been diagnosed with severe depression and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I would do anything to wrap my arms around her just one more time and say, “Mama, I love you. I’m sorry I was not there for you and thank you for everything you have taught me.”
I pray that one day I can be more like her, and that one day I can finally let go of the past and move on with my life. I have come here today to begin my fight for her. She was an amazing woman that deserved so much better. Domestic violence is a serious crime and not only does it affect the victims, but it also affects their families, especially the children who are witnesses to this horrible crime! I am a living, breathing example of just that. No child deserves to see, hear, or live in this type of situation. If you know someone in a bad situation, please I am asking you to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves!
Before I go on, I have just a few questions. Do you know what it feels like to be just a young child and hear your father say to your mother, “If the child was not sitting in that back seat, I would run this truck under a semi and kill you,” or for him to hold a glass bottle over her head while driving on what was supposed to be a family vacation and threaten to kill her with it? Do you have any idea what it feels like to get off the school bus in the afternoons and peek through the windows of your own house, just to make sure that it was safe to go inside, or what it feels like to go to bed at night and beg God to please come and take you in your sleep?As a little girl and the youngest of three children, I was always the apple of my daddy's eye. He saw to it that his family never went without and he always made ends meet. I was his shadow, his footsteps. But the day I saw him raise his hand to my mother, my world fell apart. That man wasn't my dad; he was not the man I knew and loved. From that day on, he was never the same person. I went from being Daddy's little girl, to someone who was scared of him, and made myself believe that I hated him. The abuse on my mother, verbal and physical, became worse over time. There were times when I would not see them for two or three days because they would not come out of their bedroom until after I had went to bed and I knew why.
Late one night, as my mother sat in the rocking chair and my dad stood in front of her, he slapped her so hard that he knocked her glasses off, and he continued to do it over and over again. Not long after that night, my mom was rushed to South Georgia Medical Center and into surgery for a Subdural Hematoma, which means her brain was swelling and bleeding. The doctor said it was caused from a severe blow to the back of her head. My mother was never the same person after that. I knew I had to get out of that house as soon as I could. I graduated from high school in June of 1998, got my first job in August of the same year, and that is where I met my husband. I ran away and got married in December of 1998. I hated to leave her behind in that house at his hands, but at the same time I knew I had no choice. I blame myself for not staying and trying to protect her, and I often wonder if she would still be here today if I would have stayed. I just pray that she knows how much I loved her, and I pray that she does not hate me for leaving her there. I will never forget the last time I saw her. It was just a week before she died and she looked horrible and was nothing but skin and bones. That was not my mother standing before my eyes. I went home and cried for hours. Just a few days later, she called me and asked us to come eat supper with them. I lied to her and told her we had something to do. I just could not bear seeing her like that again. Little did I know that this would be the last time I’d ever get to talk to her. I don’t even know if I told her that I loved her or not. The abuse had gotten to the point if we stopped by just out of the blue to visit, either they would not answer the door or my dad would answer but not let us in the house. There was one occasion when my mom called and asked me if I would run to the store and get them a gallon of milk, but I was quickly informed that once I was there not to expect to come in the house. On another occasion, my brother went to visit and my father let him in but when he asked where my mother was, Dad told him that she was in the bedroom sick and that he could go in and see her, but not to turn on the light or open the curtains.
On Oct. 8, 2001, I received a call at work from a good friend of my family’s that was at the time an investigator for the Cook County Sheriff’s Office. He said to me, “Carla, I need you to come down to the Sheriff’s Office.” And of course me being me, I said to him, “I don’t have time to deal with you. I am at work.” That’s when the tone of his voice changed, and I knew something was wrong. I was at the Sheriff’s Office within just a matter of minutes, and when I walked in, there sat three GBI Agents. I just looked at them and said, “Is my mom OK?” At that very moment, you could have heard a pin drop in that room. They just looked at me and said, “Ma’am, a few days ago, we found a car burned with a female body in the back seat and it was registered to your father. Do you know where we can find him?” It is also believed that he used several five-gallon bucketfuls of gas and diesel to set the car on fire. He was arrested later that night and this is what he told police … “I did not kill my wife. She died at home of natural causes, wanted to be cremated and spread in the ocean. I was headed to the coast to put her in the water, set fire to the car so that someone would know that something had happened there, and kill myself so that we could be together. “But instead the car started acting up so I pulled down this dirt road, poured gas and diesel over the car, got back in the driver seat, and set fire to the car. I put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed and when the car exploded it blew me out. “I walked nearly 10 miles to a church, broke in, and spent the night in the church. I sat in the edge of the woods Sunday and listened to the church service, and when Monday came, two men came to fix the window that I had broken. And that’s when I held them at gunpoint and stole their truck. I headed back to our home to retrieve another gun so that I could go back to her and kill myself.” On Oct. 9, 2001, I, my sister, and my brother went to see my dad in the Clinch County Jail. We all went in at the same time, but I kind of lagged behind. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him or not. Soon as I walked in, he looked at me and said, “Carla, I did not kill your mother.”
Investigators say they don’t know if my mom was conscious or not when the car was set on fire, but they do know that she was alive. In January of 2002, three months after my mom died, the crime lab released her remains and we were finally able to hold a memorial service for my mother, and in February of 2003, my father was sentenced to prison for two life sentences plus 25 years. My life has been a living hell. I have been diagnosed with severe depression and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I would do anything to wrap my arms around her just one more time and say, “Mama, I love you. I’m sorry I was not there for you and thank you for everything you have taught me.”
I pray that one day I can be more like her, and that one day I can finally let go of the past and move on with my life. I have come here today to begin my fight for her. She was an amazing woman that deserved so much better. Domestic violence is a serious crime and not only does it affect the victims, but it also affects their families, especially the children who are witnesses to this horrible crime! I am a living, breathing example of just that. No child deserves to see, hear, or live in this type of situation. If you know someone in a bad situation, please I am asking you to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves!