Killer Dads (6 page)

So I kept being angry and anxious, and I was getting worried. Sarah told me if I tried to commit suicide again I couldn't stay with her parents, and that made me feel trapped. I was worried about how angry I could get with the girls. I reminded myself of how my dad acted sometimes. [My dad and I have] talked about this. Sometimes you start out angry, then get angry with yourself because of the way you're behaving, and that just makes you angrier. Sarah and I fought about disciplining the girls. We both spanked the girls, but Sarah was upset because I hit them harder, and when I spanked them I could be really angry. I used way more force than was necessary. One time I was in the living room, and the girls were making a lot of noise in their bedroom with the door shut. I told them to quiet down a few times, and they didn't. I stood up, walked over to the door and threw it open to yell at them. The door smashed Clare in the face and split her lip. Sarah had to take her to the emergency room. Poor kid. Clare was such a beautiful little girl, and there she was, at four years old, with a scar on her lip because
of me. That's a way to make you feel like a monster. I felt horrible about that. Another time, I don't remember what was going on, but I was in the driveway with Clare and she blurted out, “I hate you, Daddy.” I got so angry I slammed her against my truck and I told her never to say anything like that again. She was so scared she peed herself, and I had to take her inside to change her. When Sarah told her parents about that, they contacted Child Protective Services. They sent someone out to talk to Sarah and her parents, but they didn't talk to me because by that time I was back in the hospital after another suicide attempt, and nothing ever came of it.

Things seemed to be better for a while for a few months in early 2010, then in the spring I was getting angrier again. Maybe the medication wasn't working. I don't mean to say that I wasn't responsible for what I did and I don't want to blame the medication for what happened. But I was suddenly, sometimes surprisingly, livid about things. Once when Sarah and I were arguing, I suddenly hauled off and slapped her across the face, hard. And we both said, “Whoa, where did that come from?” I had never done anything like that, and it had never entered my mind to do it. I think I was feeling disrespected by Sarah because I felt like I was getting stuck with most of the home and kid responsibilities, and she didn't recognize that.

The weekend I killed Clare, we had decided to spend a few days in a cabin in Washington, and take the girls, my sister, Tammy, and my stepbrother, Arthur, and his girlfriend along. I don't do very well on vacations. I get anxious and irritable. I can't remember a vacation with Sarah when I didn't blow up over one thing or another. We were going to go to the cabin for the weekend and Monday, but Sarah talked me in to calling in sick for Friday, too, so we'd have an extra day. I did that, but I didn't like doing it; it made me feel guilty. Then, just as we were packing to go, I smelled smoke, and I looked outside and saw that a hedge next door was burning. Someone had set a bush on fire. But we just shut the windows and locked up and took off. I was already so upset about things that Sarah asked me if I wanted to cancel the vacation and just stay home, but I didn't want to disappoint my sister and brother, and I was looking forward to spending time with them.

I don't remember everything that happened that weekend. Things went pretty well at first. I had fun with everyone, and the adults spent time playing board games in the cottage and talking while the girls watched TV. Thinking back on it, it wasn't so great for the kids. They were just stuck in front of the TV while the adults talked. Things got ugly pretty quickly, and Sarah and I went at it. At one point while we were fighting,
I told Sarah it might be a good idea, and better for the girls, if we separated. Then she threatened to drive home with the kids and leave me behind. But after a while things calmed down and Sarah went upstairs to one of the bedrooms. Later, Tammy walked into the living room and asked Clare if she had been chewing on her shirt. We were having trouble then with Clare chewing on everything—on her toys and on her clothes. She told my sister, “No, I haven't been chewing on my shirt.” But you could see Clare had been chewing on her shirt because it was all crumpled up and covered with slobber. That made me angry. I told her that Auntie Tammy couldn't walk her to the lake now because she couldn't trust her, and Clare got upset about that.

Before dinnertime, Arthur and I were getting the food together to grill, and I had a question about the corn, so I went up to the bedroom to ask Sarah about it. She was lying on the bed, and it turned out the fight wasn't over, after all, and she was still angry, so we started going at it again. Then Arthur shows up at the door with Clare in his arms; he had found her in the living room crying. So there she is with tears in her eyes, looking for more sympathy. I felt like I was surrounded by people who were targeting me as a bully and it made me angry. I grabbed Clare to take her back downstairs. I think my intention right then was to kill her. I kept saying in my head: “If Clare's not here, then Sarah and I can't argue. If Clare's not here, then Sarah and I can't argue.” I took Clare into the kitchen, and grabbed a knife on the counter. I held her down on the floor and cut her throat with the knife. I wanted everyone to hurt. I assumed it would be an instant death. But it wasn't. Clare was still breathing and I screamed up to Sarah to call 911. Sarah ran into the kitchen and started screaming: “My baby! What did you do to my baby?”

I stayed out of the way then, and hoped that Sarah could save Clare's life. I saw Tammy walking up to the house with Suzy and told her to go around the back and take her upstairs so Suzy couldn't see what was happening. I think there was a problem on the 911 call because they were afraid to send someone right away because I was there. I ended up going outside and sat on a porch swing next door and waited for the ambulance to arrive. When the police came, one of them drew a gun on me and put me down on the ground. He dug his knee into my back and handcuffed me and put me in a police car for six hours.

I think of that day every day, and I dream about it at night. It eats me alive. I wish I could take it back. But that's impossible.

———

As I lie here and think about my current life situation, it occurs to me that while it may be difficult in some aspects, life has become so much simpler. My freedoms are restricted and, because of cost, my contact with my family is severely limited. I have no money on my phone account so I can't call my dad, and I know from his last letter that is what he's waiting for. He's so busy that writing to me takes too much time, and is usually forgotten, even though it's my only method of contact right now. I have even less contact with the rest of my family. It's even harder for them to visit me as they are all in Canada. Of course, most of them don't want to contact me. I haven't heard from Tammy since Clare's death. But I manage as I can.

As for the simpler side of things . . . my meals are prepared for me, and I don't have to clean up after myself, other than throwing out my garbage. I have a bed and a roof over my head, and plenty of time to contemplate anything I happen to focus on. This is both good and bad, of course. Bad because of the sorrow and pain it brings me for what I've done, but I look at it as penance for the suffering I have caused my family and friends. In my case, that also includes Clare's family and friends, as they were one and the same before this tragedy. The benefit in having lots of time to think comes from reflection on my faults and allows the time to consider how I can improve myself.

Since I cannot rewind time and take back what happened, I figure the best way to show Clare I still love her and think of her is to make myself a better person. And what truly hurts me the most is that I know she would hug me right now and tell me she loves me. She was a special girl with a big heart. She loved everyone and was always quick to forgive any hurts against her no matter who caused it. I wish I had recognized sooner what a light she was in my life. My biggest comfort now is knowing she is safe from any further harm, and she can finally have that tea party with Jesus that she used to pretend to have.

I find it curious that, after a reasonably good day with no problems, I can still be depressed on antidepressants. I was content all day, happily working away on a beading project. Now, here it is after dinner, and I can't shake this feeling of sadness. No particular thoughts or memories come with it. It's just a sense of sadness and loss. I can understand why I would feel that, but why only sometimes?

Figure 2.2. The front page of the
Abbotsford-Mission Times
, the newspaper in Clare Shelswell's British Columbia hometown, marks her murder as the story with the greatest impact in the community in 2010.
Courtesy of the
Abbotsford-Mission Times.

From my experience with similar states of mind, it's usually brought on by a bad occurrence such as arguing with someone, being yelled at, or receiving bad news. There's no rhyme or reason to this one now, though, and such has been the case over the last few months—hence the reason for getting back on antidepressants to begin with.

I had a valuable thought yesterday that I shared with my cellmate. I think it would be a good addition here. While my crime was a tragedy and caused tremendous harm to family and friends, I am a better person now than I was before. The last couple of years before Clare's murder, I had turned into a prideful, self-centered ass. I was worried only about my own happiness, and making more money to add to my happiness.

I sit in a jail cell now with nothing, no family, nothing to do all day but think about what happened. All of it humbled me. I still have weak moments when my ego flares up and gets me in trouble, but mostly I am stripped of pride. The biggest reason is that I recognize that ego/pride only lead a person to conflict. Every single instance of arguing or fighting that I have witnessed since coming to prison is a result of one, or usually both, parties feeling slighted or that their manly persona was threatened. Everyone wants their ego stroked. The point is that my own pride was my downfall, and now I recognize that I am able to prevent most trouble that has arisen involving me.

Secondly, with a number of books I have read about Buddhism, yoga, and Christianity, I find the biggest rule that stands out is to love. Love everyone: yourself, your enemies and your friends. The Buddha teaches to let go of your attachments whether they are possessions, grudges, or whatever you cling to. I find that I am happier when I can help others. It could be as simple as someone needing to talk to about something bothering them, or it could needing a bar of soap or some coffee. The old me would have said, “No, I worked hard for my money and I'm going to enjoy it.” Now I enjoy things I worked for just as much by giving them away.

And grudges! What a burden we all carry around by being mad at someone for some wrong against us. All we do is stress over it and get mad all over again every time you see that person. And for what? I have been wronged many times since coming to prison, and every time I forgive one of those people I feel better about it. A while ago I had another inmate harassing me because I stood up for someone he had been picking on. He then focused on me instead. He kept telling me to kill myself, and since he was in the cell beside mine, I couldn't get away from it. He was finally moved, and I was moved. I didn't speak to him for months, even when he tried to apologize. Then something was said at a chapel service that got my attention: God can only forgive you if you forgive others. I would definitely like to be forgiven after all the wrongs I've done in my life—whether they come from God or the people I've wronged. So I forgave this guy face-to-face and told him it was water under the bridge. We are slowly becoming friends again.

When I practiced as a Christian, I never felt a drive to encourage others to come
to church or “save” themselves. I don't know if I would refer to myself as a Buddhist now but I think it most closely reflects my beliefs. Now I want to share what I feel and connect with people. As a group, inmates can definitely use the help; we have all violated someone's rights, and left a trail of pain behind us.

I wish I could do something to make amends, but I know nothing I do would ever come close to making up for my crime. I don't have any money, but I have all the time in the world to volunteer. Since no such program exists in prison, especially with the length of my sentence, I sit in a ten-by-twelve-foot cell for a minimum of sixteen hours a day, beading, reading, sleeping, and thinking. I can get really down. But I still think that over all, I'm a better person now than I was before. If only my baby girl didn't have to pay with her life to change me.