It’s the crystal clear blue October sky which comes to north Georgia after cooling temperatures start its magic on the trees causing their leaves to change into brilliant autumnal colors of red, gold, yellow, orange (and everything in between), when the air has been swept clean by the blustery wind that produces that particular blue matching my son’s eyes. For the 15 years he was missing, it was this blue October sky that helped me feel connected to him. Strange, but not, that it was on such a day with such a sky that we buried him.
Not the best picture of his eyes but close enough for now. Can't look any more through old photos right now.
With the passing of each day of the 15 year wait to find out what had happened to my son, I was sure that the “system” would fail him. I was not disappointed. The system failed all of us… miserably. Not only did the largest county police department in Georgia botch his missing person’s information on Georgia Crime Information Center (GCIC), but they actually removed his name from the only link I had to the world to his whereabouts. They also altered his physical appearance on the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) when I protested his removal forcing them to re-establish his profile on their network.
The irony? If my son had been 2 months younger, I wouldn’t have had to solely rely on the government “system” as my only source to help me locate Carl. I would have been able to use National Center of Missing and Exploited Children to locate him. The “system” never asked me for a photo, childhood fingerprints, dental records or anything which would actually assist “them” in locating my son who was merely 45 minutes away from me the whole damn time buried as a “John Doe” in a pauper’s grave.
What had happened to Carl started to unravel in the most unlikely way on Saturday, September 11, 1999 at 8:00 AM.
Carl was sitting in my lap as I rocked him like you would a little, scared boy. I felt his breath on my face and the weight of his 18-year-old body on my lap. I urgently told him telepathically over and over how much I loved him as I stared, unblinkingly, into those October-blue-sky eyes of his. I was holding my boy in my arms and that was all that mattered. I told him I didn’t care where he’d been or what he’d been doing. It was my body’s rocking motion, tears and a mother’s pain strangling my breath which jerked me from sleep with the wonderful feel of my child’s 6 foot, 170 pound body sitting in my lap.
It was the bitter-sweet dream of my missing 18-year-old son and my immediate conversation with my daughter (then 22) which triggered me into action once again in search of him. My daughter told me she’d had a dream a couple of days before where Carl had come to her as well. It was then she reminded me of my associate at work who was dating a P.I. That was as good a place to start as any.
I emailed my associate saying I’d had a dream and would she ask her boyfriend, Ed, to assist us in our search for my lost son. He called me the next day.
From the onset of our conversation, Ed confidently said, “I think I can help you put some closure to this. You really need closure”. Even though I knew next to nothing about Ed, I “knew” he could and would be the only person to help connect me with Carl again. How? 100% instinct… or God’s hand guiding me.
In our first phone conversation, I described Carl’s appearance, approximate date of disappearance, where I’d last seen him and under what circumstances, what I knew of his lifestyle, what I had done in my search for him over the last 15 years, etc. And, by Thursday (9/16/99), Ed asked if I could meet him on Saturday (9/18/99) to look at a composite drawing done by a famous police artist to see if there was any resemblance between a “John Doe” found about the time of my son’s disappearance in Ed’s hometown of Barnesville and my son.
Ed had known about this “John Doe” as he’d been the Chief of Police of Barnesville, Georgia when John Doe’s body had been found outside the city limits in an abandoned house. Ed’s wife at the time, Rene, had been the lead investigator of the Lamar County Sheriff Department’s homicide investigation team. And, in those 15 years, Ed had gladly left the area; his now ex-wife, Rene, had gone to work for the GBI and had recently rejoined the Sheriff’s office wherein she immediately started working their “cold case” files.
To prepare for the meeting, I needed to have the last known photo of Carl enlarged 400% so as to accurately compare his likeness with “John Doe’s” pencil composite drawing. All I had to work with was a picture taken by my dad of Carl, my daughter and me in April, 1984. This was the photo I showed to many passersby in town during my lone search for Carl the long, hot summer of 1984. I’d moved to Mom’s to hopefully add some stability to Ava’s 6-year-old life and so it was after I’d put Ava to bed that I’d go downtown looking for any clue as to his whereabouts not knowing anywhere else to look. Having to examine the photo closely was a painful reminder of my failure to find my lost child. I had looked at it every single day for 15 years but not like I did on this day.
Carl, Ava and me April 1984
As I pulled the photo out of my wallet, the exercise served as a painful reminder of the lost third musketeer, lost years, lost love, lost child. Looking at it had always brought tears to my eyes and a great pain to my heart but when I experienced the full force of his sole image roll out of the copier in 400% enlarged full-living color, I started crying.
I had somewhat prepared the kind lady at the photo shop assisting me by explaining why I was in no shape to operate the simplest of machines at this moment. As I fumbled for the money I owed, my heart remained gripped in pain from the after-image of seeing that enlargement of my beautiful child’s face and from not knowing his fate. As I left, this wonderful woman said as I ran from the store, “God bless you. You’ll be in my prayers.” Her words echoed through my soul as I raced to the privacy of my car to totally break down.
Saturday morning, 9/18/99, I awoke with fear, nausea, relief and pain all shrouded in a sort of dislocated sense of non-reality (or surreal-ness – I’m still not sure). My man-friend drove me to the pre-designated Jonesboro meeting place with the enlarged photo of Carl staring back at me as each mile brought me closer and closer to knowing… or not.
Barnesville's John Doe
As I compared the pencil composite drawing of the Barnesville “John Doe” to my son’s color image, a strange thing happened. As an art major in college with an art history minor, I guess, for me, it was somewhat normal for my art history training to kick in. I kept staring at the drawing, reaching for where I’d seen it before as if I was taking that all important final exam… searching my mind to identify the artist, time period and medium. Finally, when I was ready to accept the task at hand, I was able to put the “student” aside and take the features from each and compare them. The hair was similarly parted in the middle. The eyes had a slight droop on the outer edge crowned with proud brows. The noses were the strong, straight Roman type. The ear size and placement was the same on the head.
“What about eye color?” I grasped explaining to Ed that Carl’s eyes were as blue as the sky on a clear October day. Why couldn’t anybody confirm eye color for me of this “John Doe”?
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from a Friend 
It breaks my heart every time I think of what you’ve been through.