My Letter to My Dead Daughter – After Forgiving the Man Who Killed Her

Ann Grosmaire was shot dead by her boyfriend shortly after turning 19.

Nearly 16 years later, Ann's mother, Kate, says she has forgiven the man who took her daughter's life.

"Forgiveness allowed us to move forward and heal," she says. "Do we continue to feel grief? Of course we do. But we aren't imprisoned by our grief."

Kate has written a letter to Ann for the BBC World Service podcast, Dear Daughter. In it, she reflects on how she found forgiveness and why she supports open communication between victims and perpetrators of crime.

Ann was the youngest of three sisters. Kate describes her as "very smart" but not fond of school. Theatre was her true passion, and she participated in every school production.

She also dreamed of opening a wildlife refuge one day. Friends remembered her as wise, kind, loving, and compassionate.

Ann met her boyfriend, Conor McBride, at school in Tallahassee, Florida, when she was 16. Kate and her husband Andy thought Conor was "very nice" and polite.

"We really liked him," Kate explains. Conor even lived with the Grosmaires for three months after his father kicked him out.

Ann and Conor's relationship was sometimes volatile—they argued and broke up occasionally—but overall, they seemed happy. They had plans to marry one day.

In spring 2010, Ann was recognized for her academic achievements at college. She was thrilled and planned a celebratory picnic with Conor.

However, Conor was less enthusiastic than Ann had hoped, and they began arguing.

"They were both 19. It was one of those things where they just couldn't stop—they literally argued all night until they fell asleep," Kate recalls.

The argument continued the next day. At one point, Conor took his father's shotgun and threatened to kill himself. Ann responded that if he didn't want to live, she didn't either.

"He pointed the gun at her and said, 'Is this what you want?'" Kate explains. Ann said, "No, I don't." But Conor, exhausted and wanting it all to end, pulled the trigger.

Conor immediately turned himself in. When police arrived, they found Ann still alive but with injuries from which she would likely never recover.

With Ann on life support, Kate decided to visit Conor in jail. She told him that both she and Andy loved and forgave him. "When I said those words, I just felt a peace come over me," she recalls.

Days later, Kate and Andy made the difficult decision to turn off Ann's life support.

"I knew that peace could only come through forgiveness," Kate later wrote in her letter to Ann. "Yes, forgiving Conor, who had pointed the shotgun at you and pulled the trigger."

Kate did not want to remember her daughter solely as a murder victim. In her letter, she writes, "You were so much more than that. But if I allowed myself to see Conor only as a murderer, then that would be the label you would carry."

Restorative justice is a process that allows victims to speak directly with perpetrators about the impact of a crime, while giving perpetrators the opportunity to take accountability, offer explanations, and address the harm caused.

When Andy first learned about restorative justice, he and Kate immediately felt it was the right path for them.

At their first restorative justice meeting with Conor in summer 2011, Kate says, "We were able to pour our hearts out and explain to Conor just what it meant, how hard it was to lose her."

Conor shared details about the argument that led to Ann's death.

Kate and Andy were invited to suggest terms for Conor's sentence, which the state attorney considered.

The state attorney offered Conor a choice: a 25-year prison sentence, or 20 years with 10 years probation, provided he completed anger management classes, publicly spoke about teen dating violence, and volunteered in areas related to Ann's interests.

Conor chose the latter.

"Nothing could have restored your life and brought you back to us," Kate writes. "But we were able to tell Conor how his actions affected us and participate in crafting a meaningful sentence for him. Spending the rest of his life behind bars would not make up for your life."

Kate is confident that forgiveness has been the best way for her to find peace.

It has allowed her to be more present for her other daughters, who were 21 and 25 when Ann died, without bitterness.

"You can imagine that if all I could think about every day was Ann and the way she was taken from me, that would affect my relationship with them," she says.

Kate and Andy stayed in contact with Conor, now 35. Initially, they spoke weekly by phone and email and visited him in prison.

"I think he really needed—especially in those first few years—to know that our forgiveness stuck, that our willingness to talk to him stuck," Kate says. It has now been "a few months" since they last spoke.

While in prison, Conor has volunteered as a law clerk, facilitated classes on accountability and restorative justice, and spoken in a video about teen dating violence.

"I told Conor that he needed to do the good works of two people now," Kate writes in her letter to Ann.

Kate and Andy continue to mark Ann's birthday every year with a cake and singing "Happy Birthday," and they hang her stocking at Christmas.

"I can't bring myself to not hang it," Kate says, "but then it is a sad reminder of her absence."

Advocating forgiveness and restorative justice has become Ann's legacy, Kate says.

"Forgiveness is not a pardon," Kate explains. "It doesn't mean what they did was okay. It just means that you're not going to wait for them to make it right. With forgiveness, you let it go and you walk away—and feel that peace that comes with it."