It’s 11:11 p.m. on the night of what I thought would be the closing chapter of my life’s greatest trauma.
I should be writing about what happened in the courtroom today, but instead, I’m writing about what didn’t.
Yesterday, as I was making a quick run to the grocery store for some last-minute dinner items, my phone rang. I hadn’t even entered the checkout line yet when “The Prosecutor’s Office” flashed across the screen.
My heart skipped a beat as I thought, Why is the Prosecutor’s office calling me now? Are they calling to remind me of the hearing tomorrow?
I quickly answered the phone, trying not to sound worried. After the pleasantries were exchanged, my advocate proceeded to say, “I’m sorry to inform you, but the judge has a scheduling conflict and needs to reschedule tomorrow’s hearing.”
“Hello?” she said. I held the phone in disbelief, struggling to find words. “Of all hearings to be cancelled, why this one?” I asked.
She apologized and again explained that there was a scheduling conflict on the judge’s calendar.
I expressed my disappointment and explained that my sister traveled from out of town to be with us. My brother and other family members also took vacation days to support us. I wanted to get this over with!
She said she understood and continued speaking, but my mind was a million miles away as I tried to gather myself together. “When is the next hearing date?” I asked.
She fumbled around for a few moments and then said, “September 8th at 9 a.m.”
I stood in silence for a moment.
September 8th is the anniversary of my mother’s passing. I sighed, tears in my eyes, and told her, “Okay, we’ll be there,” before ending the call.
The scheduled hearing for ‘Miller The Killer’ next week holds significant weight because it will serve justice for John.
I called my advocate today because I had a few questions.
She answered them and said, “While a plea agreement is in place, we won’t know with certainty if the defendant will accept it and formally enter a guilty plea, or opt for a trial, until he stands before the judge. ”
WHAT?!?!?!
I was in disbelief.
“We thought that after the victim impact statements, the judge would hand down the sentence at this hearing, based on the plea agreement.”
She read the note on the file,
“The defendant’s proposed guilty plea remains conditional and does not finalize until he enters the plea before the judge. The defendant reserves the right to accept or reject the plea and proceed to trial. Please relay this information to Mr. and Mrs. Wilks.”
“So, you’re saying there could still be a trial?” My voice cracked with each word, the fear evident.
She continued, “Yes, I’m sorry we didn’t explain this in our last meeting.”
I sat there in silence thinking, my husband is right, the person who killed our son should not have the right to dictate anything. We believe that he should forfeit his rights the moment he took our son’s life.
The initial shock left me reeling, and while further questions were asked, the responses faded into the background. My mind remained fixated on the weight of the revelation. Creating my victim impact statement has been a struggle, not only to put the pain into words but to face the prospect of sharing it publicly. Miller the Killer’s decision to pursue a trial could prevent the court from hearing my voice, which is deeply concerning.
I ended the conversation, hung up the phone, and stared off into space.
I had begun my countdown to the delivery of this sentence since our last meeting with our prosecution team. Now our Advocate is telling me it’s still up in the air.
It’s seven days to what I thought would be justice for John, until the first fragile steps on the path to healing. Now, a trial threatens to tear that future away, dragging me back into the darkness.
As soon as I start to go there, I hear my mother saying,
“Shari, you can’t worry about what hasn’t happened yet. Worry wastes energy. Don’t go there.”
This post details the most profound confirmation I’ve experienced yet. It’s interesting because the moment it happened, I didn’t recognize it as a sign per se. Perhaps I was too overwhelmed by the event itself to process it as such. Only in the past few days have I begun to fully appreciate its power.
On Sunday, Mothers of Murdered Columbus Children (MOMCC) held the closing ceremony for their Trendy Trades Summer Youth Program. The Trendy Trades Program is designed to teach young people trade skills and keep them safe during the summer months. The program offers options like construction, automotive, podcasting, sign language, and marketing. It aims to provide youth with opportunities they might not otherwise have, potentially reducing violence by keeping them engaged and productive.
At the end of the ceremony, each youth group gave a final presentation about what they learned. Malissa Thomas-St.Clair, MOMCC founder and organizer of this program, asked those in attendance to vote for the top three presentations.
The American Sign Language group’s final presentation was truly exceptional. All the presentations were enjoyable, but their performance was particularly impactful, captivating the audience and securing first place.
The video is a beautiful tribute to Mothers Of Murdered Columbus Children based on Michael Jackson’s song Heal The World. Heal The World, penned and performed by Michael Jackson, is a powerful anthem urging people worldwide to unite through love, compassion, and collective action to create a better world for all.
As a lifelong Michael Jackson fan and a committed member of the MJ Community, this moved me profoundly.
The moment their presentation started, I recognized the first bars of ‘Heal the World’, and my eyes instantly welled up. Thankfully, I chose a seat at the back of the room, as the tears started to stream.
The video brought a familiar ache – a memory of John’s casket and the vow I made to find purpose in my pain. Now, more than ever, healing the world with MOMCC feels like the path to fulfilling that promise.
This video serves as a powerful confirmation, from both John and my hero, Michael Jackson, that the path I have chosen is correct.
Due to permission restrictions, embedding the video directly on this blog post is not possible. However, you can view the video, which effectively illustrates my points, by following this link to the Facebook post.
Since July 28th, the first anniversary of John’s murder, I have profoundly felt his presence. That evening, a powerful message marked the beginning of his communication to me from the other side, expressed through diverse and active means.
I understand and respect the viewpoint from those who don’t believe in communication with loved ones from the other side. Personally, though, I strongly believe that such communication is possible, a topic I mentioned in previous posts.
I wrote my last entry, “Angel Number 111,” because John’s message below not only moved me to tears but validated what I’ve said many times before:
Be open to receiving messages from the other side
After the late night messsage above from John on the evening of July 28th, I headed to bed. John’s message of love lifted my spirits so I was able to fall fast asleep.
July 29, 2025
A Penny From Heaven
The first anniversary of John’s murder loomed heavy, threatening to consume me. To find a glimmer of distraction, I welcomed our nine-year-old granddaughter, Kammy – John’s daughter and the absolute joy of my life –to spend time with us.
It was a pleasant shock to actually sleep in this morning. In the past, Kammy has always been my personal alarm clock: a tiny whirlwind of “Good Morning, MiMi’s!” jumping on my bed, showering me with kisses before I could even open my eyes. My usual response would be to pull her close for a hug and then pull the covers up over both of us, playfully insisting, “Too early, MiMi needs more sleep!”
Now that she’s nine years old, she sleeps in and I usually have to awaken her before 11 am. After breakfast, the dollar store was the next stop, and I asked her to come along. She happily obliged and jumped in the back seat of the car. For some reason, she had trouble getting her seatbelt to lock. Before getting in the driver’s seat I gave her a hand. Reaching down to help, a small, gleaming object caught my eye resting on the floor mat behind the driver seat. I looked closer and realized it was a penny.
“Hmmm, this is strange”, I thought.
With just me and my husband at home, the back seat is always empty. My second thought was, How in the world did this penny get back here?
Then the saying, “pennies from heaven” popped in my mind which immediately put a smile on my face.
Many people believe that finding a penny, often called ‘pennies from heaven,’ is a meaningful sign, offering comfort in the belief it signifies a loved one’s presence or validates their life choices.
My current life path is rather unconventional, so it’s definitely the former -It’s John.
I picked the penny up, and tucked it into a special spot in my pouch. ‘Hi, son,’ I whispered. ‘Thanks for stopping by to say hello to us today.
My Penny from Heaven
The White Butterfly
My wonderful day with Kammy came to an end, and after dropping her off, solace was found on my porch. Beside it, I have a beautiful flower garden that, features a magnificent butterfly bush. The butterflies gathering their sweet nectar from its vibrant blooms are a sight to behold.
The garden often has many butterflies, but one white butterfly visits the bush regularly. My mother’s passing in 1999 from colon cancer has always made me associate white butterflies with her presence. For the past two months, whenever this white butterfly appears, I greet it by saying “Hi Mommy.” It would just sit on the blooms and then fly away.
Moments after posting John’s heartfelt message on Facebook a few nights ago, Chrystal, a dear Moonwalker friend, chimed in with a comment. She stated that I should pay special attention to signs from him including white butterflies. As soon as she said that I instantly thought, Oh My God! I’ve been saying hello to mommy for several months every time I see the white butterfly on my bush.
Could that be John instead?
Well, the answer to my question was a resounding yes, today! Sitting on my bench, I began recording my butterfly bush, noting the daily visit of a white butterfly.
Instead of saying,”Hi mom”, I said …”This is John saying hello”.
No sooner did I speak the words than the butterfly appeared, performed an aerial ballet just inches away from me, before gracefully departing.
It was John saying “Hi, Mom” for the second time today. He was also probably saying, “It’s about time you realized it’s me!”
July 31, 2025
John Pays Me Another Visit in My Dreams
John’s recent signs have been a profound comfort, arriving exactly when needed most. Even if they stopped now, my heart would be full, yet he continues to bless me with love from beyond.
Earlier this morning, John visited me not once but twice in my dreams!
I heard scratching on my bedroom door and in my dream I got out of the bed to open it. When I opened the door, my daughter Justice was on the other side. She was around ten years old and for some reason was going from room to room in our upstairs. As I followed her down the hall, John who was around 13 years old, came out of one of the bedrooms.
“John!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him. His embrace radiated a wave of pure happiness that made my heart sing.
I followed him into another bedroom, where the familiar hum of the Xbox filled the air. My nephews, Kevin and Zachary, were deeply engrossed in a video game. John’s hug, warm and comforting, brought a rush of nostalgia. The summers when the boys would visit from Georgia came to mind, their laughter echoing through the house during weeks filled with love and joy.
Waking up, I walked down my hall to make sure it was just a dream. It was so, I returned to my bed and drifted off to sleep again only to fall back into the exact same dream but this time my daughter Justice was a teenager and John was around 17. He was so tall and so handsome. He gave me yet another hug that felt so real.
I woke up to a moist pillow, bearing the sweet evidence of joyful tears.
The Pizza Party
Later today, I received an email from Destiny at Glen Rest Memorial Estates informing me that John’s permanent marker should be arriving and installed within the next 2 – 3 weeks. I replied back asking if I could have the temporary marker of which she replied with a yes and stated, it’s unusual that it’s still there. The groundskeepers usually remove them within a few months, and it’s been a year since John was laid to rest.
The urge to visit John’s grave to retrieve the temporary marker and sit with him today was strong. It was getting close to dinner time so I grabbed a pizza before heading to the cemetery. When I arrived, the balloons from our last visit were still attached to his temporary marker and gave me a friendly wave in the wind.
The plan was to eat the pizza alone in the car, but the thought of John’s genuine love for pizza sparked an idea: why not turn it into a pizza party with him?
As I sat down with my pizza and Pepsi, I glanced over at the grave directly across from John’s. It’s that of a young man named Jake Michael (Last Name not mentioned out of respect for his privacy). Seeing John’s grave placed directly beside Jake’s last year brought an unexpected sense of comfort. John, three years older, was alongside someone so close in age, Jake being born in 1999 – the same year as my daughter, and John’s sister, Justice.
Because of this, I always say John has a buddy on the other side.
Well, I couldn’t give John a piece of pizza without including Jake, so I removed a piece of pizza from the box for me, one for John, and another for Jake. After taking a bite, John’s and Jake’s portions were set on their separate graves, and I began conversing with them as if they were still here.
I stopped talking, closed my eyes, and the silence washed over me. The sweet symphony of chirping birds and the distant, airy chime of a nearby windchime gave me such peace.
I could sit here forever.
The signs from John continued. I usually bring my devotional book and read from it while I’m there, but this time, I brought a book called “Signs- The Secret Language of the Universe” by Laura Lynne Jackson. This book offers a unique perspective on the afterlife, teaching readers how to identify and understand messages and signs from those who have passed.
Flipping to the next chapter, the astonishing title appeared: “Buddies On The Other Side.”
Be open to receiving messages from the Other Side.
Every death anniversary is a painful reminder, but the first is always the most acutely felt, a raw wound of a year’s worth of ‘firsts’ without them.
I’m profoundly touched by the incredible love, thoughts, prayers, and words of comfort I received today.
Before going to bed for a much-needed rest, I have to share an incredible thing that happened tonight.
John, was murdered on July 28, 2024 and pronounced dead at 10:25 PM
A few moments ago, I decided to read my past Facebook messages I received from John. Examining these old messages from him intensified the sorrow. However, a particular message unexpectedly softened the grief, bringing a quiet comfort
This message was sent on July 27, 2023 at 10:24 PM which is exactly, one year, one day and one minute before his official date and time of death… 111
111 is a profound Angel number and often seen as a spiritual sign from a deceased loved one indicating they are near and trying to communicate with the living. It is considered a sign of hope and reassurance.
This is clearly a message from John telling me I’m still surrounded by his love
Thank you, God.
Thank you, son.
Momma loves you more
*I had John’s Facebook page memorialized shortly after his death. Here’s a screenshot of the page, which includes his profile picture. This same picture accompanies the message above *
I woke up this morning on a tear-stained pillow, my soul having sensed this day before my mind was able to comprehend it.
One year ago today, at 10:25 PM, a senseless act of gun violence forever changed our lives by taking away a father, son, brother, nephew, cousin, and friend.
Every day, John’s absence serves as a poignant reminder of the terrible loss suffered. Its a profound ache in our hearts that never seems to go away.
We miss him each and every day.
This past year has been a tumultuous journey. Each step forward felt countered by a step back, a relentless oscillation between progress and pain. Smiles emerged at cherished memories, only to be overcome by fresh waves of anguish, tears a stark reminder of his absence.
But, I’m still here.
I’ve tried my best to honor the promises I made to John as I stood in front of his casket and said, “I promise to find purpose in this pain and will forever say your name. Your death is not in vain.”
The highest priority has been to keep the promise, which has been demonstrated by:
Joining Mothers Of Murdered Columbus Children to help make our city safer with many initiatives including ‘Silence The Violence’ Mall Walks
Attending our city’s vigil to honor victims of gun violence
Participating in the ‘Walk For Peace’ against Gun Violence with Moms Demand Action
Though grief may linger, it has illuminated a new purpose: to perpetually honor the memory of my son, John, and nurture the vibrant legacy he left behind. I strive each day in the hope that he looks down and smiles, knowing how much he truly inspires me.
The fight for justice rages on, not just for John, but for every life tragically impacted by gun violence
One More Hug
John,
I’ve never been a huge fan of AI. But on the first anniversary of your tragic passing, it gave me a chance to hug you one more time
This week has felt like wading through a storm. The first anniversary of John’s murder is looming, and I am unraveling. I keep replaying this time last year, in my mind, knowing he moved through these days unaware that his life would soon be stolen. Grief has me caught in a relentless tide of tears, each wave crashing harder than the last.
On Tuesday, we had the long-awaited meeting with the prosecution team to hear if the defense accepted our counteroffer. They accepted part, but not all, which was disappointing. I’ll write about this in detail after ‘Miller the Killer’s sentence hearing on August 26th. This is the day when our voices, as victims, will be heard by the court and the killer. We’ll be able to make our statements to the judge before the agreed-upon sentence is handed down. I have no idea what I’m going to say. A part of me doesn’t want to speak at all, but the other part reminds me I cannot refuse. I promised John that I would be his voice. Worry sets in. What if the intensity of the moment renders me speechless?
I have to let that go for now. My focus is on the grim reminder of July 28th, the day ‘Miller the Killer’ tore my son from me. It’s a day I wish I could skip, a day that never should have happened.
And once again, my vision blurred as fresh tears welled, tracing paths down my cheeks.
As the tears streamed, my nine-year-old granddaughter, John’s daughter, gently placed the day’s mail in my hand. She always gets the biggest kick out of retrieving our mail from the box and “delivering” it to me. The junk mail landed in the wastebasket, but one envelope remained in hand. It was from Parents Of Murdered Children, the support group I attended once last year. The memory of that first meeting, which was later described in the blog post Too Much Too Soon, resurfaced. What could they want after all this time?
I opened the envelope and noticed a flurry of butterflies danced across the paper, mirroring the profound transformation within my soul since John’s murder. Beneath them was a poem titled ‘When Tomorrow Starts Without Me’
Each line of this profoundly beautiful piece resonated deeply within me, offering the exact comfort I needed today.
WHEN TOMORROW STARTS WITHOUT ME When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me
I wish you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things we did not get to say
I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me too
When tomorrow starts without me Please try to understand That an Angel came and called my name And took me by the hand
The Angel said my place was ready In Heaven far above And that I would have to leave behind All those I dearly love
But when I walked through Heaven’s Gates I felt so much at home When God looked down and smiled at me From His golden throne
He said This Is Eternity And All I promised you Today for life on earth is done But here it starts a new
I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the same way There is no longing for the past
So When Tomorrow starts without me Do not think we’re apart For every time you think of me Remember I’m right here in your heart ❤️
Our Prosecutor’s Advocate called. We have scheduled a meeting for this coming Tuesday with the team for an update on the case. I’m a nervous wreck. Ten days will mark the first anniversary of John’s tragic death and my heart is exceedingly heavy. What are we going to hear? Could this be the call telling us we’re finally closing in on the end of this heart-wrenching legal nightmare?
The moment the call ended, a Facebook post caught my eye. Its message was incredibly relevant, echoing a profound sense of truth, particularly John’s affirmation of his unwavering support and his promise to be there on Tuesday.
The Soul Journey
Losing a child doesn’t just break your heart—
it shatters your entire soul.
You don’t “get over” it.
You wake up every day learning how to carry a love
that no longer has a place to go.
No milestone is ever the same.
No birthday passes without tears.
And some days, just breathing feels like a betrayal.
They were your world.
Your heartbeat.
And in a moment, the world kept turning…
but yours stopped.
People will say,
“You’re so strong.”
But they don’t see the nights you screamed into your pillow,
or the days you smiled for everyone else while quietly falling apart.
When you think of July, you often think of celebration. It’s a month filled with dazzling fireworks, delicious food, and delightful festivals. July is joy. I used to see July in that same light, but this year is different; instead, July has been steeped in sorrow’s dark hue.
Why?
Because on July 28, 2024, John died. He didn’t just die; someone murdered him.
Previously, whenever I referred to death, I always used the term “passed away.” However, this term doesn’t seem appropriate for my son’s death.
“Pass away” is a gentler, less direct way of saying someone has died and fits the many losses I have suffered over the years. My mother and grandfather passed away from colon cancer. Daddy passed away from COPD. My father-in-law passed away from brain cancer. Both of my grandmothers passed away from old age.
But John didn’t just pass away; Miller the Killer murdered him. A callous, cold-blooded killer used a gun to extinguish his life most unnaturally. This direct language may seem harsh to some, but for me, it’s a way of acknowledging the reality of what happened to my son. Murder is a violent act that steals a life and leaves behind immense pain and injustice.
That’s the truth in a nutshell.
When I lost my parents, I had the chance to say goodbye, but John’s murderer stole that sacred moment away.
As I reflect on today, I can’t help but think about this time last year. John was alive and well, enjoying life and contemplating his future. He had no idea that in just two weeks, multiple gunshots would take him away from us, and he would never see another day.
And neither did I.
So today, I find myself drowning in tears.
If I could wave a magic wand, July would disappear.
It has taken me nearly a year to write about the last time I saw my son, John. Just thinking about it is painful, and writing about it hurts even more. I’ve kept this memory tucked deeply away in my mind until recently, when I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and came across the picture above. I immediately stopped scrolling to read the post. As I continued to read, it was impossible to hold back the rising tide of tears that began to stream down my face.
My mind drifted back to the last time I saw John, and an overwhelming sadness filled my soul.
Now, it feels right to open up about that day.
June 29, 2024
The memory of this last encounter and the words exchanged with John that day still weigh heavily on my heart.
John stayed with us for a week after a physical fight with Miller the Killer at his home, which was one of several incidents leading up to his murder. Due to the altercation, John had trouble returning home, so he stayed with us until the landlord allowed him to move back in.
I had been urging John for quite some time that he really shouldn’t be in such a violent environment if the situation continued to escalate. The presence of Miller the Killer made me particularly nervous.
While sitting on the porch, I offered him the option to stay with us as he figured things out. He insisted on returning home, believing it was where he belonged. I had just found out he proposed to his girlfriend without telling us, which added to the confusion. He kept changing his story about their relationship. His selective disclosure of information, alongside his dismissive attitude towards our concerns, was incredibly frustrating. After discussing it with my husband, he calmly said, “John’s working hard to become the man he wants to be; let him.”
While I did my best to respect his wishes, the momma bear in me had to let him know how I felt.
“John, I don’t want you to go back there. It’s dangerous. You can stay here, but you must remain here. If you go back there with her, I’m afraid there’ll be a knock on my door from the police telling us you’re dead.”
He stood up, shook his head, hugged me, and told me he loved me. He said he needed to return the car to his girlfriend (now fiance’).
I wanted to pull him back and make him stay, but my husband’s words echoed in my head, so I let him go. He sauntered down the driveway, got in the car, and pulled away. I whispered, ‘I love you more,’ and watched his car disappear into the sunset.
That was the last time I saw my son alive. One month later, on the evening of July 28, 2024, he was shot seven times. That knock on my door in the early morning of July 29th was the one every mother dreads and the one I feared most: a detective telling me that my son was dead.
Later that day, amidst an emotional breakdown of wails and tears, I told those who tried to comfort me about my last conversation with John. I recounted what I had said to him. “I knew this was going to happen!” I cried over and over again, sobbing so hard that I lost my breath.
One of my guests responded by quoting Proverbs 18:21: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” She continued on with her interpretation, “This means that words can create both positive and negative outcomes.”
Excuse me?
Was she saying I spoke John’s death into existence?!?!
How dare she say that to me at the most excuciatingly painful time of my life!
Whether she meant it that way or not, that’s how I took it, and I told her I completely disagree. I did not bring about this negative outcome with my words; rather, I anticipated it happening. It’s called a mother’s intuition, and a mother’s intuition can often be more powerful than any words spoken.
I just knew, and my worst nightmare had come true.
John,
Had I known the last time I saw you would be the last time,
