Well, as much as I don’t believe in resolutions, I do think today calls for reflection and gratitude. It’s hard to believe how much has transpired, as this past year seemed to whip by.

This time last year, I had a blog that I hadn’t posted to in a solid 5 years, my mom was still alive, I still had hope that charges would be brought for my son’s murder and I had still somehow escaped Covid. Now, just a year later and all of those things have changed.

I picked up Covid on New Years Eve last year — at an event I chose to skip this year. I am not sure if it is due to my having an autoimmune disease or from the very obvious physiological changes that have taken place since surviving the stress, terror and trauma of Josiah’s murder, but I swear I can just look at a sick person these days and catch what they have.

However, what I may lack in physical brawn, I make up for in spirit.

In January, I launched my grief page, Finding Grace In Grief, on Facebook and started meeting with clients via zoom for one on one, peer to peer grief support. Meeting others in their grief is both an honor and a comfort, giving me new perspective and ability to experience my own.

In late February, after what would have been Josiah’s 28th birthday, James Cloud finally went to trial for the White Swan Murders, being found guilty on a multitude of charges, including 4 counts of first degree murder. Within hours of the verdict being read, Donovan Cloud accepted a plea deal which included immunity from ever being charged for my son’s murder (or Jon Cleary’s) and was also given the gift of a 27-year-max cap on his sentence. If you’d like, you can read more about what happened here.

I listened in everyday to the trial via teleconference call.  I felt it was my responsibility as Josiah’s mother, but it did not come easily. My ptsd and panic disorder were triggered and came back to life in ways I had not experienced before. I am still wrestling with the after effects today.

Come April, after 2 years of declining health and insufficient medical care due to the strain of the pandemic, my mother was taken to the hospital via ambulance and somehow, just 27 minutes after receiving word, I was in my car with a lightly packed suitcase and a plane ticket headed south to San Francisco and then east to Raleigh, NC. I spent the better part of the next six weeks by her side, sleeping next to her bed in the ICU, trying not to break under the strain of family drama and the all too frequent inability for some to accept when a person is ready to go. Those six weeks that we had together were some of the most profound moments of my life. I have learned through the loss of Josiah that showing up, and I mean really showing up — eye to eye, heart to heart — while leaving our fears and self-focused desires behind is the greatest gift we can give to both ourselves and others. To me, it is the very essence of spirituality.

On the last morning my mother would wake after coming home on hospice to die, she told me that Josiah had been there with her the night before when angels had come to take her away, adding in a very breathy voice,

“And I wasn’t afraid… I wasn’t afraid.” 

“No, Momma,” I responded, “you don’t have to be afraid.

It comforted me to think that the two of them would now be together… 

Summer came and with it, another round of Covid, contracted at my boyfriend, Brian’s, high school reunion. I joked with him at the time, “And this is why I don’t go to high school reunions!” 

It wasn’t all for not, though. At some point during the endless Covid positives I read as I tested daily to try and return to work, I finally decided to pick up and read Stephanie Land’s book “Maid” from my coffee table. And somehow, born out of that, was a firm decision to return to my blog, and more importantly, to finally get Josiah’s story written. You can read about my return here.

I then committed to writing regularly, to pound it out, key by key, word by word until the truth of what happened to him — and what didn’t happen in the justice system — was told. 

By some stroke of great luck, Candace, an old classmate of mine from high school, a school I have never attended a reunion for, invited me to join her in the London Writers Salon, a worldwide group of writers who show up to write with one another on a regularly set schedule, five days a week, and even on the weekends. 

As a matter of fact, I’m writing with them right now.

Come October, Brian and I made the trip back to Yakima to attend the Clouds’ sentencing. There is so much to say about that trip, but rather than do it again, you can read about it here in case you missed it.

James Cloud is now living out his life in Florence, CO, and Donovan in Pollock, LA. 

When I first started posting to my blog, I told all of you that I would post Josiah’s Story, chapter by chapter, but was later warned by an editor who specialized in memoir to stop — that it was her belief that a publisher will want to publish this book and sharing it here would prevent it from getting picked up. So, I apologize for holding it back in the hopes of it one day reaching a wider audience, but have left the first 7 chapters up here to give you a taste of what is to come.

And I promise you, I am going to keep going until every word has been written and Josiah’s story has been told.

Until then, I will continue to keep you posted about how the writing is going and share new discoveries that come to light.

I thank you immensely for your patience and support.

As for tonight, Brian and I are ringing in the New Year with the dogs as I am currently kicking another deathly cold, having caught it on my trip home from my Dad’s annual Christmas Party on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. 

More than anything, I want to extend a HUGE THANK YOU to all of you, both old and new, who have supported me on this journey, who have acknowledged that Josiah mattered, that I matter, that all of us — and our stories — matter.

They all deserve to be told.

My intentions for 2023 are to keep writing — to keep my heart and mind open to the possibilities, to ask the hard questions, to open my mouth when I doubt that I can and to keep it closed when I fear I can’t. I want the kindness and love and spirit that were Josiah’s to fill my life in a way that keeps him alive within me. 

I do so hope the same for all of you — and may your dreams be fulfilled, your hearts be calmed and your traumas be witnessed and healed. 

Sending you love wherever you are,

Liz

---

Please sign up so we can stay in touch!