Finding Hope After Homicide

By: Elizabeth Williams

In the early morning hours of May 31, 2019, I spoke to Lemondo via text message. The last text message he sent me was at 3:22 a.m. I would later find out that his time of death was 3:25 a.m. Lemondo was killed during a robbery outside of a check cashing business. His case gained public notoriety because it was the fortieth murder in the city of Dallas for that month of May and tragically, it remains unsolved.

Lemondo was an overindulgent father. We both had kids from previous relationships, and he loved all the kids the same. Our son Isaiah had his Daddy wrapped around his finger since birth. Whenever Lemondo walked through the door, no matter what Isaiah was doing, he ran to him screaming “Daddy” at the top of his lungs. I never saw a greater father / son relationship.

Lemondo never met a stranger. He had a beautiful aura around him that brought calm to any room he entered. His smile was contagious, bringing laughter everywhere he went. His generous spirit would give the shirt off of his back to someone who needed it. No matter how hungry he was he would split his hamburger five ways if he thought the people around him were hungry too. Lemondo had a huge heart, and all he wanted was to love and be loved in return.

A humble person, he never thought himself to be better than anything and anyone. He was a man who believed you only live once so you must remember to stop and smell the roses. Lemondo taught me not to worry so much and just relax. He was a religious man who would talk to all who would listen about God. When he asked me out on our first date, he took me to church.

Our relationship was based on trusted communication. We talked about and through everything. We often laid our head on the same pillow and expressed the different things that were going on in our lives, sharing constantly about our dreams and plans. He always said that he wasn’t romantic, but he did so many things to make me feel special. He taught me to love unconditionally by loving me unconditionally. I would never say we were perfect. We argued, but we never went to bed angry or without praying together.

Lemondo’s death was totally unexpected. Amid my grief, I had these children who were looking to me for direction. Our six-year-old son Isaiah lost his best friend and dad at the same time. I knew I had to seek help. I did several google searches and The Grief & Loss Center just kept showing up. I took it as a sign, gave them a call and scheduled a meeting with Laurie Taylor. During that very first meeting with Laurie, we talked, we laughed, and we cried. I felt like I connected with someone who understood that I was not okay, I might never be okay, but it was okay to feel that way. 

I joined the Homicide Support Group. As we shared, the members of that group taught me the true meaning of the word compassion. I felt connected to these people from all different walks of life who unfortunately had tales of loss similar to mine. Every month I was greeted and comforted by this amazing group of people who gave me hope when I felt so hopeless.  

Another thing that told me this was the place for our family was how comfortable our young son was the moment we walked in the Center. He didn’t show an ounce of resistance or hesitation.  Isaiah joined the SAM’s group for children. He has learned ways to express his grief. He understands now that he is not the only child in the world who has lost someone important to them. As he enters every meeting cheerfully, his love for the SAM’s experience shows all over his face.

Over time, Ms. Laurie and the other volunteers have become a part of our family. The genuine love and support they have shown us is unmatched. They have taught me so much and lifted some of my darkest days. 

I hope this story of our grief journey and the ways the Grief & Loss Center have helped me has touched someone who is hurting and needs support.  I can’t believe a google search brought a life-changing extension of compassionate people to my family, but I am so very grateful that it did.