In 2005, my husband and I woke up to the murder of his mother, Mary Ann Larsen-Pusey, by his father, Clinton Pusey, while we slept down the hall.
It was a long hall. Long enough that Mary Ann sometimes called us from her mother-in-law suite rather than walk down it. We shared this home for a few months while we were all in transition: Us, into newly married life and them into newly retired life. They were packing their belongings and moving to Clinton’s native Colombia.
That morning was a shock to us all, Clinton included. He has no memory of that morning, except for a few random, seemingly unimportant tasks he accomplished.
As a writer at heart, I process my world through writing about it. Years of private entries fill my journals. My husband sent emails and letters to inquiring friends and family. And after some time, with some feedback from new friends, “old” friends, and a couple of family members, we realized we had a story that wasn’t meant to be selfishly hidden away.
You see, we desperately love Clinton. And we have had to work through the grief, anger, loss, confusion, disappointment, fear, shock, resentment, and pain of losing two parents at once: one to death and the other to the criminal system. A journalist once asked us how we were doing so well. He had seen many tragedies and families break up, fall into addiction, and even commit suicide in hard such as ours. This made us realize that perhaps our grief journey was different. Perhaps, even amidst great suffering, there was hope.
And what if we could share this hope with others? And what if people could also find forgiveness, reconciliation, reunification, and joy after such heartache as we three have? Dare we hoard this gift to ourselves?
Well, I tried. It’s a hard story to tell. It’s a scary story to tell. Not because of the details but because of the love we have for Clinton. A deep desire to see him free from harm. But as we researched, we found that a simple Google Search for either of their names led people to graphic news articles telling a superficial, surface-level version of our life story. A wife-killer ruled insane.
But Jeremy’s dad is far, far more than this.
What if we could add our voice to the digital conversation about who he is? It would mean detailing the truth of that morning, yes, but it would also mean detailing life leading up to that point and the marvel of life beyond. It would mean restoring dignity to a man worthy of the love and affection of his family simply because he is.
Thus, we release our story of redemption into the world. Not that we can redeem, but that by God’s grace, He has wrapped all this pain into a story of glory, mercy, and compassion. Redemption. Beauty from ashes. Pain that has sharpened us into deeper, more connected people.
So we invite you into our story. The painful, the hard, the grief… and the joy, the restoration, the recovery, and the sweet mercies that only God can unveil. ,