People will often say to me that I need closure. What I've learned by meeting people whose children have died—maybe they've been murdered or they've died of cancer or whatever, and we've been in groups together—is that there is no closure. They know what's happened to their child, and they have the same anguish that I have. I think that people who use the word “closure” have never lost a child. It's not closure.
For me, when I hear on the news about the finding of human remains, or that somebody killed a young girl, it opens up the wound every time, and I wonder. Maybe I'll be phoning the police or doing research or something. It's that the wound keeps getting ripped open all the time.
I would really like to know what happened to her. I feel as if she's out there waiting for me to find her, I really do. It makes no sense, but I feel that.