Diary of a Mother's Mission

My son, Kevin Martin, disappered under mysterious circumstances in the wee hours of July 18, 2004. His partial remains were found on February 1, 2005 in the river. The Des Moines Police have not been helpful and this is my blog to tell what I have done as it's done.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Four Years Later

Today, and the past week or so, I'm not coming from a position of high spirits. I don't know why. I did want to write this particular blog coming from a position of strength but I'm not feeling very strong. Who knows why? At times I try to figure out my gray moods. Sometimes I can, because it's all very obvious. At other times it isn't, and so to sit and dwell on a reason or to try to come up with an answer is futile and a waste of time and energy.

Yes, I finally did go back to the police dept. to request another part of Kevin's file which was under another number and referenced in the larger case file. It was no problem, and went quickly, unlike my attempt to get the primary file. I was in and out in 15 minutes. I also requested a meeting with the new chief, Judy Bradshaw. The office person had to check and when I called back to request that appointment I was told that someone would get back to me. This is what happened the first time. No need to say more about this. Same old, same old. What is the Maj. going to say to me when I tell him there are things missing from Kevin's file? As I've said before, I have to muster all of my strength and faith to go down there and deal with these people. It's depressing.

This past Summer an acquaintance or friend of Donna's, Kevin's step-mother, called her. He had seen a bumper sticker with Kevin's "http://www.kevinmartin.com/" on it, what do you call that, his website, I guess. Gary thought it was a white car but I'm sure it was mine, silver gray. Anyway, he called Donna to tell her that he had had an "insight" and seeing the bumper sticker reminded him of that, and, although so much time had passed, he felt the need to call Donna and relate this to her. Nothing new, but it did corroborate what has been said before; that someone did something to Kevin and that he sustained a head injury. So after all this time, someone remembered something, an insight, I'll call it, and relayed it to us. Why he waited so long to call, I don't know, and it wouldn't have changed the outcome anyway, but it does give hope. The case is closed, definately, as they told me with vehemence, they're not working on it, but if a piece of information comes through that they deem significant they can always reopen the case.

I watched a little of the Olympics this year. The gymnastics are so popular that one can catch coverage of that particular sport if one doesn't have cable, which I don't. A couple of names were mentioned from the last Olympics. The U.S. medaled then as well, although not as prolifically as this year. I couldn't understand why the name wasn't familiar to me and then I realized. 2004! I was in a different world. A nightmare. Kevin had disappeared just before the 2004 Olympics. Rereading the police report, again, took me back to that time as well, something I don't like to do. I don't want to relive the horror but it does come up every now and then. I immediately try to focus on where I am now, the positive, the wonderful memories of Kevin. Now, four years later, I can do that most of the time. Just not all of the time. Whenever I hear a jet plane, I always think of Kevin. This year, once again, I go to Lincoln H.S. where Kevin went to school. On occasion, I still see young guys who remind me of Kevin and I turn my head and watch. Most of the time, they, the school, airplanes, a favorite book, his artwork, which I just looked at again the other day, all different little things that maybe I had forgotten about suddenly pop into my everyday consciousness, and conjure up warm, positive, memories of him - and I'm glad for them. It's hard to accept that that's all I have. Memories. But, yes, I'm very glad for them, because that's all I do have four years later...


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