My nephew had suffered from schizophrenia for 17 years. He was 27 at the time of the murder.
I will describe how
the last nine months have impacted me and my family.
My name is LeeAnn and I am Don’s little
sister. I was his birthday present on
his 5th birthday. He also
received a truck. By the way, I think he
preferred his truck. We shared birthday
parties every year.
Don was a prankster and a comedian. He
loved to pull stunts on people and came up with some pretty elaborate practical
jokes. Unfortunately, I was often at the
butt of these but I forgave him for those long ago.
We owned a cottage at the lake and would
spend every summer there. Don and I
shared a bedroom. Every night we would
do skits, jokes and impressions with my other brother through the wall. Don taught me how to catch snakes, frogs and
salamanders. I was afraid at first but I
so wanted him to be proud of me. I
became a champion snake charmer. We played endless games of tag and hide and
seek. And yes, we tormented the
neighbours with our favorites, "Ring and Run" and "Raid The Fruit Trees".
When he was in grade 12 I was in grade
7. He would drive me to school and being
the typical kid, I wanted him to drop me off somewhere far from the front door
of the school. Instead he would screech
up to the front of the school, pull his hoodie tight around his face, honk the
horn and announce that I had arrived. Of
course, I was mortified but it was better than walking to school in the 40
below weather. (We grew up in
Saskatchewan).
Don picked up the guitar at a young age and
taught himself to play. He would play
for hours and hours. He ended up forming
a band and was much beloved in the Regina music community. He hosted jam sessions regularly and
encouraged people to get up and perform.
A tribute for him was organized by his fellow musicians at the end of November. They raised a lot of money for Wendy. The
hall was absolutely packed with people who loved my brother. So many people approached me and told me he
was responsible for their career. I was
very proud.
Don married Wendy and stayed in Regina
while the rest of his family moved to Victoria. He often expressed his desire
to live on the coast but Wendy was a Regina girl so he sacrificed that dream
for a long time. For the majority of our adult lives Don and I lived a country
apart. He raised his children and I raised mine. Finally, in the last year of
his life he realized his dream and moved his family to Nanaimo. We were all so excited that he would be close
and I could not wait to get reacquainted.
Don was a great father. He was so laid-back and patient. His family was so important to him. What my brother went through trying to keep
Jordan grounded, keeping him off bad websites, keeping him away from conspiracy
theories, talking him down all the time.
He looked so tired during his last year on earth. Wendy expressed a
desire to live in Vancouver because the island was a little too boring. So Don took
a job in Vancouver where he worked extremely long hours and wasn’t able to
monitor Jordan properly. I believe he
was afraid of his son and wanted something definitive done about the situation.
Because of the lack of proper antipsychotic medication he had to sacrifice
himself in order for that to happen.
Knowing my brother, he would be happy it was him and not some stranger
on the street. I will never forget that devastating phone call that I received. My husband and I had just landed in Mexico. I doubled over screaming. I couldn’t breathe. We flew home the next day. I immediately drove 45 minutes to my parents home to be with them. The extreme grief of my 74-year-old mother losing her first-born child was overwhelming to me. I worry for her health. She has been having repeated panic attacks and chest pains since. Having a package of your baby’s remains arrive at the front door is soul crushing. She found out about my brother on the news. She saw that the crime scene was my brother’s building and that a man in his fifties had been murdered by a man in his 20’s. She made calls to confirm that her son was dead.
Don called me two days before we left for Mexico. I didn’t return his phone call. I feel extreme remorse and guilt over this. Maybe if I had talked to him, something would have been different. Maybe the butterfly effect would have changed his fate? Please forgive me brother.
The horrendous details surrounding my
brother’s death are etched in my mind forever.
I haven’t been able to work since this happened. I am being treated for depression. I imagine what he went through and wonder how
much he suffered. I wonder if he woke up
and saw his attacker. I wonder if he
fought back. I wonder and wonder. Every birthday I have for the rest of my life
will be a day of sorrow for me and for my parents. Every holiday.
I am finding great difficulty getting
through every day. I have lost 20 pounds.
I couldn’t eat for a long time. I
felt sick. How could I go on and enjoy a
meal when my brother went through what he did?
I find no joy in life. I am
forgetful and confused. I can’t make a
decision. I walk from room to room wondering why I am
there. I hate leaving the house. I feel anxious. I feel cheated and hopeless
about life and can’t reconcile that something so horrific could happen in the
blink of an eye. How someone can be here
one minute and gone the next. I am
shackled by the fact that life can be so unfair. The toll that this has taken on my relationship is indescribable. It is very difficult for another person to understand ones profound grief. Sometimes, others expect that there is a grieving period and then we need to move on. We have come so very close to walking away from each other. My grieving period is ongoing and I have a very difficult time socializing or doing anything. I have re-evaluated my whole life and what is important to me. I desperately try to find meaning every day. I realize how fleeting this life is and that I want to make a difference but struggle every day to get out of bed.
The fact that a family member is responsible for snuffing out my brother’s life is exponentially more difficult. I wish with all my heart that Jordan had been properly medicated and not on vitamin therapy only. Schizophrenia is not something to be messed with and is a very serious mental disorder, not treatable with vitamins. The vitamin company, Truehope, promises desperate parents and patients a "cure" for mental illness but the patient needs to be off his or her's prescribed medications for this to occur! Unfortunately Jordan's mother succumbed to this brainwashing. I'm sure this vitamin concoction helps some people with less severe symptoms but Jordan has extremely violent and paranoid thought patterns. Jordan was off his antipsychotics at the time of the murder and had been sliding deeper and deeper into his delusions and hallucinations during the last three weeks of my brother's life. The last thing he was looking at on the computer was an execution. I wish Wendy had not let him on the computer. My brother never did when he was in charge. Unfortunately he had taken a hard labouring job so that Wendy could afford Jordan's vitamin therapy which can range from $100 to $1000 per month. I'm sure Jordan was on the upper end of that scale. Despite all of Health Canada's warnings against this product, it is still being sold on-line and made in a US plant. neurocritic.blogspot.ca/
I am at the point now that I can’t cry anymore. I feel numb inside other than the cramping feeling in the pit of my stomach all the time. My family’s lives have been forever crippled by this awful event. I would like to get to the point that I can celebrate Don’s life and not keep drowning in all-consuming sorrow. It is difficult to measure the sense of loss and pain. Don was a gentle spirit who left the earth in the most violent way.
We celebrated what is now our last birthday together last June. My daughter bought a cake with our pictures on it. When it was brought out of the box, Don’s face was smashed in. We joked about it. I can’t believe we joked about it….it was some crazy morbid omen. I wish I had told him I loved him.
Jordan, I think you loved your dad but you had a lot of anger toward him and blamed him for all your troubles. I wish you had been properly medicated. I wish you would have had insight into your disease. I know you were not yourself when you did this terrible thing. Your life will never be the same. Your parents loved you and took care of you. You killed one and almost killed the other. I hope you accept how sick you are and cooperate with your doctors. I hope you try to be a good person and make some meaningful human connections. I hope you are kind to your fellow patients. I hope you can make amends in some form during the remainder of your life. I wish for you to try to make your dad proud with how hard you will try to be a good person in the future. I wish my brother wasn't dead. I love you Don.
