Breaking the news.

Two years later. Breaking the news. First Kai. Then my family and close friends. And then like wild fire the news spread.

Ripples of shock hit my home and communities. and those folk we’ve known for years. Family. School friends. Teachers. Our life in Mexico. The island.

But telling my boy was the hardest part. All of that waiting. Waiting for the confirmation of my poor girl’s death. That the girl they found the morning before was mine.

I had asked the investigators to let me know before Kai got home. To come and go before he arrived back from school. After several phone calls with questions that would identify her.

Did she have any birth marks or tattoos or other identifiable marks on her body?

And later I would be asked to look up the serial number from her Invisalign. Rooting through boxes of empty trays. Tears in my eyes searching blindly. Telling the officer how ridiculous it was for me to have to go through this experience. Not being able to read the fine print.

I remember simultaneously apologizing and letting the detective know exactly how I felt about hers he asked me to do. And saying that I knew he was just trying to do his job, but what the actual fuck. This was how I was to ultimately understand she was gone.

Through her orthodontics. Her Invisalign. She had been on her last tray. Her perfect teeth. She was had been so happy.

And later I would let our dentist office know what had happened. I’d recount this horrible story. And they brought a beautiful necklace to me at her visitation. A string of stars.

Those damn stars. Aligning.

The detectives came and went. And my son came home. In all of the waiting I had sent him to school. I didn’t want him to be a part of any of it until we were sure. There was always room for doubt. So I got up and put on a brave faces and sent him on his way.

And Sinéad O’Connor played in my mind all day. It’s all been a gorgeous mistake. Of course it has. Some egregious and horrible mistake has been made. It’s not her. She call any minute.

And I kept calling and messaging her. And all of her friends. Hundreds of calls made in those impossibly long and unbearable hours.

But it was her.

And the next hours and days would be filled with breaking the news. Sharing the tragedy. Listening to friends and family and later reading their disbelief and shock and sorrow.

I was never alone in my grief. So many mourning her. She affected so many of us. Such a bright light. Yet never felt more alone. As the hierarchy of grieving a child is undeniable. And I’m right at the top of it.

There are no words. And yet some of us, myself especially, are finding them. And it helps tremendously.

You see it’s all about finding the words. When all these folk continue to tell me that they have no words, I recognize that it’s become a kind of impulse to find them and write it all away.

I am not an island in my grief. I recognize and honour others’ grief along with my own. I cry for others in their pain at losing my girl. And the sadness and the remorse and longing and even the guilt.

Two years ago yesterday I shared this horrible news with her brother. And today her world would find out. And plans were made to finally see her. Not in any capacity I’d ever or anyone could ever imagine.

But that’s all I wanted to do. I just wanted to see her again. Before I broke the news I needed a plan to see her again. And the news followed with an invitation for a visitation.

Breaking the news. I needed everyone to know. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone asking how she was later in time (although this would still happen). Some part of my brain knew how to protect my future self. Not even realizing why, I needed the whole world to know she was gone.

And now I need the whole world to know that she should still be here. Those damn stars that aligned or rather mis-aligned that fateful night.

If only this was all some kind of gorgeous mistake. And you hadn’t jumped into that river. And you were still here. As you should be.

We miss you my girl. So so very much.

LLU🕊️

12 December 2024:

A year ago I shared the news with our world. I confirmed the most tragic experience a mother could endure. I lost my girl. I lost Ula.

12 December 2023:

We are devastated to have to share that our beautiful girl Ula was taken from our world suddenly on Sunday morning, December 10th. There won’t be a moment in our lives that her loss won’t affect us. She was our amazing, talented, shining light who cared so much about other people and loved life beyond words. Ula Marguerite Podesta Chalmers was 16 and beautiful and brave and bold. Thank you all for witnessing her childhood and being a part of her beautiful life. Ula is our star and we love her so so much. We hope to share our grief and celebrate her life with you later this week.

And now we will be marking the first year anniversary of her death with a vigil. Later this week. Where she died. Where she was left to die.

As I close the chapter on the first stage of our life without her, a new one begins. A year of mourning has ended and the real fight starts.

At the end of a meeting with the very same detectives who came to my house a year ago to confirm her death, they told us that they had concluded her case. There wasn’t enough evidence. The clip of her lifeless body wasn’t enough. His criminal history and track record wasn’t enough.

Her own history was brought in. Her experiences over the late summer and fall. Her mental health history and substance use. Her story and life blemished like a rape victim. Dragged through the dirt literally and figuratively.

Had I not shut down the film clip it would have gone viral and the case would have been very different. Had we not been honest and shared our experiences, myself with the press and social media, herself with workers and officers alike, the case would have been very different.

Most often kids don’t just take a pill and die. There is a trajectory. A turn of events. This happened quickly with Ula. Very quickly. We were open about that because we want to save lives and end any stigma. It’s not their fault. It’s not one pill. And it wasn’t her fault.

The investigation is now closed. And the real work begins. There has been no justice for Ula. But there will be. And I will continue to honour her in many ways. Perhaps helping to change laws. Someone watched and let her die. When they could have saved her easily. She had naloxone. He had a phone. He knew what to do and didn’t. Should she have taken drugs? Did she intentionally? None of that matters. She should still be here.

They asked me at the end of the interview if I was ok. My previous emails suggested I wasn’t. Initially I said that I was fine. But as we concluded our meeting and they informed me her belongings were behind me in boxes, I told them clearly that I was not ok. I am really not ok. Would they be? Would you be? What would you do if it was your child?

All of me loves all of her. And she should still be here.

LLU💜🍏🕊️