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Please scroll down to read the words of Rita Armstrong, our speaker, who spoke of her grief experience in the years following the death of her 19 year old daughter, Anna Nicole.

May 13, 2010 

“Swing Into Spring” Fashion Show and Luncheon

 (held at Rivercrest Golf Club and Preserve in Phoenixville) 

We had a successful and wonderful event. 

Thank you to    and all who supported us.

Fashions were provided by the Philadelphia Premium Outlets in Limerick.

                                                          Our Spring Fundraising Committee:

Christine Smith, Marilyn Pennapacker, Carol Berardelli, Connie Fretz, Arlene Kilcoyne (co-chair), Beth Douglass (co-chair), Barbara Grula, Shawna Bader, Rose Seponara, Alice Gassner, Lauren Rieger, Shirley Elrod

Our speaker, Rita Armstrong (center) with

Shirley Elrod and Christine Smith

In Rita Armstrong's Words:

No parent should have to cover up their child before the undertaker closes the lid. Yet, this happens much, much too often, day in, day out in our communities without the toll on our lives being heard. Anna’s story and other stories of senseless crime needs a voice. With the help from the Center for Loss and Bereavement, I am that voice. On October 6, 2004, I became what now defines me, consumes me, and has forever changed who I am: a co-victim of homicide. My daughter, Anna Nicole Fowler, age 19, was raped, robbed and murdered; then left, rolled up in a blanket,  by a broken motel room window because the perpetrator could not get rid of her. What words can I possibly use to effectively convey the sheer agony, immense hurt, incapacitating grief, utter longing and unimaginable suffering that comes with this horrific crime. This loss has profoundly affected my family, friends, co-workers, neighbors and our community at large. I have been forced to survive,  yet will always walk along side the victimization of my daughter and my life…as I evolve from the person I used to be to the person I have to become in order to continue on and not let my daughter’s death be in vain.

 The senseless, horrible loss of my child has impacted me not just emotionally but physically, financially and spiritually as well. The pain was so unbearable at times just to get out of bed was overwhelming. Other days I felt like my heart was physically breaking in two causing crushing, heavy throbbing pain that sent me to the hospital on several occasions. The only time the pain in my heart would stop was when I was asleep; only to return with a vengeance upon awakening. In the beginning stages of my grief journey the anguish to see her, hear her voice, just touch her one.. more.. time…made my question my values and beliefs; to challenge all that I believed this world and beyond….to be. Blinded by tears, I crawled around the house looking for her one day; another day I buried myself in her closet, pulling her clothes down all around me, trying to remember her sweet smell. I would wear her clothes, right down to her underwear AND curl my then long dark hair; hoping that if I looked like her people would see me and not forget what she looked like. We had to move from our home; as I would sit by the window, my heading resting on the cold, hard windowsill, day in, day out, watching for Anna to come home; her cherry sandals waiting for her by the door. Most of the time I felt like I was just going crazy, as I tried in vain to accept… the unacceptable. Then I  found the Center for Loss and Bereavement. Little did I know that the REAL grief work was about to begin. And little did I know how much that one hour, every week would impact the rest of my life.

Losing a child under any circumstances is devastating, but to homicide? It was unimaginable. This happens to other people I see on the news, not me.  This was not of my world, my life. I can still remember watching one yellow leaf float peacefully past the window while two detectives gently tried to explain the unexplainable. I called one a liar. You couldn’t possibly have my daughter;  her resume is on the table; she has a job interview tomorrow. But is was me; it was my daughter who now lay in the morgue. A statistic among many, many others. I now felt robbed, violated; as the perpetrator killed a part of me that night. I am no longer the same wife, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, friend. I can only work P/T as an RN; as I have PTSD. But with the help of my bereavement counselor and in the safety of her office, I was able to verbalize the anguish and hopelessness I felt until they were no longer part of my existence. There, as well, I learned how to redefine my role as a wife, mother, sister.. different, yes,  better, definitely.  I had a hard choice to make that first day on her couch, box of tissues in hand: I could run my car into a tree (as I asked God to take me many, many times); I could hide under the covers for the rest of my life (family and friends spent countless hours sitting at the end of my bed), or do the hardest work I would ever have to encounter:  crawl through the grief until I got to the other side.

 My counselor and I called it “being in the pit.” It felt like I was ever so slowly trying to crawl to the top of a very deep hole; only to fall down into the abyss again…and…again. I had to hold on to the promise that I would get to the other side; spend less time in the pit, that there would be a new tomorrow, that I might even learn to smile again. But…how could this possibly happen? The task seemed so overwhelming in the beginning:  I not only lose my only daughter but my best friend. No more shopping excursions, trips to the shore,  no late night snuggling as I wrapped my finger around one of her long dark curls as we talked about her future..one that was now…never to be…

 During my countless hours at the Center, I learned to find the inner strength that I didn’t think I had...that new roles would have to be formed in order for me to survive. I learned to be selfish; I had to accept the fact that I had to do what was best for me. I learned it was ok not to be the caretaker, that I was the one that needed to be taken care of...and that as a mother…and as a woman…this too.. was ok.  Relationships with family and friends were altered as well. Some stayed right by my side while others ran for the hills; coworkers avoided me because they were uncomfortable being associated with murder; almost as if they were afraid they would bring it home to their own families. I had one friend see me in a store, turn and walk the other way. She later explained she didn’t know what to say, she was afraid to even look at me. With my counselors gentle guidance; I tried to understand that this was more the norm than I had realized.

Once I was able to look outside myself I saw that the people around me were grieving too. And they needed to grieve in their on way; that there was no right or wrong way to grieve. Grief for me came in waves: waves of hurt, denial, sadness, despair, anger, bargaining, guilt; emotions poured out that I didn’t even know I had.  Some  were small waves that I was able to jump over rather easily; others would wash over me again and again until I though I was going to drown.  Everyone wanted to believe I was doing well to relieve their own anxiety over what had happened. If they didn’t ask; I didn’t have to tell. Over time though, I learned to save the little bit of energy I had for the ones that did listen, that still heard me cry in the middle of the night, feeling helpless, but listening just the same. And when I stopped crying for just a minute; I could sometimes hear their tears. Just as I was grieving for Anna; they grieved not just for the loss of Anna, but for how useless they felt. They verbalized to me that this tragedy has affected them profoundly as well. They hug their children tighter; kiss their husbands goodbye more often and always, always realize now the potential for, God forbid, this happening to them. Then apologize to me because her death has made them a better person.  I struggled in the privacy of a small office in Skippack week after week to not only forgive the people in my life that were unable to cope with what happened; but to forgive myself for what had happened to Anna. Powerlessness is perhaps the worse emotion to face. Homicide takes away control over every aspect of your life. I was powerless to stop it; powerless to be with her as she took her last breath; was powerless in the courtroom as well. The fate of the person who took Anna’s life was left up to lawyers, jurors, strangers, to decide. Our family had no say; no input; were not even allowed to cry out when testimony got to be too much. My son, my brother, even an aunt were taken out, downstairs to be locked up for lashing out when the horror of hearing and seeing pictures of what happened to their loved one was repeated… over and over.   Anna’s dad and I couldn’t even stay in the courtroom for the coroners testimony; afraid if we had seen anything we would have held hands and jumped out of a window.  This went on for three and a half years. That is how long it took from her murder to sentencing; that is how long it took for our family to get closure. We finally begged the D.A. to drop the death penalty so the perpetrator could be sentenced. He was sentenced within three weeks of our request to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

When someone takes a life, they have no idea the wake of devastation they leave in their path or the rippling effect homicide has on families, friends,  society. One senseless act can have many repercussions and everyone involved from me to the criminal justice system, even to the counselors having to see the utter depths of human despair.. becomes a co-victim. Everyone that has been touched by these injustices in one way or another has had a part of them affected by their association with crime; with the criminal element that lurks and waits and reeks havoc on our lives and on our society as a whole. This is what homicide does to our families, to our communities and to our world.

But was I, mother of a murdered child, going to also be a victim? How would this honor Anna’s life...and death? How could I go on though, for the rest of my life...without it destroying me? And what about my son? Now an only child;  verbalizing to his aunt that he not only lost his sister, but his mother. This is where the healing began and still continues. To survive is to walk along side the trauma, as it will always be a part of my life. You never “get over” what happened. I have to remind myself every day to put one foot in front of the other. With the help of my counselor from the Center, I learned that it is ok to stumble, to fall; that I will get up again. I was given hope that someday I might even be able to make a difference, even though in the beginning of this journey I couldn’t have imagined standing here today.  But I do stand before you now; as a model of hope and resiliency. Do I succumb to the pit still? Of course. But the stay is shorter, the trip not as bumpy, as I know now I will rise again to continue Anna’s legacy. I have become a survivors speaker for the PCCD. As a nurse, I now run support groups for clients with PTSD. I am also actively involved with the National Organization of POMC; who were instrumental in getting the President to pass a bill making Sept. 25^th a national day of recognition for homicide victims, incl. the victims of 911. My son and I were in Washington on that bittersweet day to see this bill get signed.  I run, I dance, I smile, sometimes I even catch myself laughing. And yes, oh counselor of mine, I have accepted, without feeling guilty, that this is all ok.  Would I have thought this possible 5 years ago? Absolutely not. Would it have been possible without bereavement counseling? I highly doubt it. During what was to be one of my last sessions, I drove home with these realizations: that where there is light, darkness cannot exist. That suffering is merely the non-acceptance of what IS. That love never dies. That by giving away her clothes I will never lose the memories. And most importantly, that by losing my daughter I gained many things: compassion, empathy, humility; a greater understanding of human suffering. That is was not about what I could teach others; it was about what Anna could teach me. That the bonds between a mother and child can never be broken. That life is a gift, not to be taken for granted; to be thankful for what I had; and try not to dwell on what I didn’t have. To value relationships before they are gone; and to try and forgive what once seemed to be… unforgivable. 

And most importantly, that if  I could make a difference in just one life...just one..it would be the highest honor I could receive as a mother...as a woman…and as a human being. Thank you Anna Nicole.

Thank you.

Last modified: July 14, 2010