Grief comes in many different forms. Most of us, at one time or another, have experienced it. If you have not, you probably have absolutely no one in your life, no attachments. There's the "normal" grief (that doesn't feel normal) of losing a parent. Once you reach a certain age, this is inevitable. Most of us have lost a pet which is devastating and also "normal." Others have lost uncles, aunts, sisters, brothers, friends. Some have even -- grief of all griefs -- lost a child.

Dark grey storm clouds filling the sky with soft light filtering through — Photo by Lucie Morel on Unsplash

The ways in which we lose people are as varied as the things we lose. Car accidents, cancer, plane crashes, natural causes, COVID. The list is seemingly endless. I would venture a guess that almost none of you, however, have lost someone you care about because they were murdered.

I have, and can sum it up in one word: horrific.

I recently wrote about my brother, Scott, and his Disco dance group, The Silver Steps. Sid Wells, one of its four members, was murdered in Boulder, Colorado on August 1, 1983. He was 22 years old; I was almost 20. Like Sid, I was a journalism major, though we studied at different schools. I grew up with Sid. I loved him. He was like a brother to me; actually, he was much, much more. I loved him like THAT.

I don't remember how I heard he had been murdered, but I remember how it felt: like someone punched me in the gut. My mom and dad were out of town, even out of the country at the time, on one of their many vacations. It was just my two brothers and me alone at home. I remember phone calls; they seemed endless. Reporters calling, wanting to speak to Scott. I recall someone sitting in their car, for what seemed like an eternity, outside our house. I was grieving but felt prohibited to fully grieve. There were too many distractions; the hows, the whys, the whos.

If you Google Sid Wells right now, you will see story after story about him. Why? First, Boulder, Colorado wasn't exactly a crime mecca. I don't know how many homicides they have had, but not many, at least not up until that point. Second, Sid was dating Robert Redford's daughter, Shauna, at the time. Because of this, the case garnered widespread media attention.

Sid's roommate, Thayne Smika, was accused of the murder, but he fled and has never been found. Authorities believe he is somewhere outside of the United States. If you look at Smika's picture, you wonder, how in the world were these two friends? And what did they have in common? And why did he murder Sid, execution-style, in the condo they shared? There are a lot of rumors and speculation about that and I have my own opinion, but that is not the focus of this story.

This story is about the deep grief felt when one loses a loved one in a violent way like murder. Sid's brother, Sam, who was also like a brother to me, was the one that found his body. The Wells family had known tragedy before as Dick Wells, their father, was killed by a drunk driver in a car accident in 1981. We knew their entire family; they were OUR family.

I remember writing in my journal about the events; I felt overwhelmed and numb. I remember going to the funeral with my parents. Scott was an honorary pallbearer; he and Sid were not as close as they had been in high school. I remember the paparazzi who had no regard for the people there that were grief-stricken. I remember Robert Redford walking down the aisle to take his seat, just feet away from me. I remember so many things, yet much is a blur.

Besides writing in my journal, I have never written about Sid. I wish I still had my journals so I could dive in deeper regarding my emotions at the time. I know, even though many around me were grieving, I was alone in my grief. You see, my relationship with Sid was his and mine. No one else's. That being the case, no one knows what WE shared, how we felt. His death caused a depression I had never known up to that point or have known since then.

That is the way it always is with grief. It is a very personal, individual journey where only the person grieving can decide what is acceptable, what is okay. I know that it took me a very, very long time to get past the shock, terror, anger, and fear that I felt after Sid was killed. I was so young; only 20. I don't remember anyone telling me it was okay to feel what I felt or that everything, someday, would be okay; I don't remember even being free to speak about it.

Maybe that is why, at 62, I try to allow people to talk and grieve and just let it be what it is. It is through experience that we all, hopefully, learn. We oftentimes must go through something before we can meet people where they are.

I really wish this was not so.

Shattered Pieces, Holy Ground

There is no Grief like Murder Grief