The woods behind our childhood home were a majestic, mythical playground for Toby and I. We imagined gigantic white wolves watching us. We played endless games of hide and seek amongst the trees, and we would pretend to be spies stationed in some foreign, wild outpost. We were careless, free and so very happy. We were a duo, a team, a bonded pair. Those memories were so very long ago, and when I bring them to mind waves of powerful emotions overwhelm me. Gratitude is now the main emotion. Emotions of gratitude weren’t always the main emotion . Instead, I would spiral and rage reaching for anything to numb the pain and anguish. Time, that horrible shrew, has been grueling, but time, that wise teacher, has brought humility, peace, wisdom, grace, and gratitude. I miss Toby on a cellular level. He is in my bones and blood, my thoughts and my sight. I am grateful for the memories we made and the time we had together. All I know to do is to continue walking directly into the memories so that gratitude and peace will flow, and he will always be remembered. -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Life. Life always gets in the way. I remember at age 23 when my dad was killed, I was just simply living my life. I was working a lot, going to college, and having fun with friends often. I was a normal 23 year old kid. Then one Tuesday morning, I was told my dad had been shot multiple times the previous night. Just like that, life stopped. Life paused. And so did I. I was reading a devotional the other day and it discussed recoiling during pain. How can we not? I don't know anyone personally that walks right into painful circumstances and says, "ah this is good." That Tuesday morning, a pain came that never quite went away. When we lose someone to murder, we can recall that painful moment as if it were happening again. That is trauma. This explicit memory is important. While pain is a part of this journey, we tend to recoil when we feel it. We cannot recoil when we feel the sting from the pain. We cannot avoid the pain because leaning in is what leads us to hope, healing, and the ability to live with it all. Our sorrow is not just about our current loss, but the entirety of the loss. I will never forget the moment I learned my dad was taken. But I also will never forget the times that brought me joy after. God turned this sorrow into something to reach others and my pain is no longer only about me. Recoiling keeps us inward, advancing forward through the process allows us to see beyond ourselves. Three reminders: -It is important to be with our emotions and also have breaks from them. We need space for this reality. -Sadness is multidimensional, and recognizing how sadness and pain ebbs and flows builds trust in our ability to endure as well as gain assurance that this wont be this hard forever. -Perspective and attitude help us. Encouraging verse: Trust in Christ despite struggles and pain makes the experience easier to bear. The spirit of a man will endure sickness, but who can bear a crushed spirit. Proverbs 18:14 

Recently, I was told (by someone who loves me) that I just don’t understand the evil that people are capable of, nor do I understand the extreme evil that masquerades as truth in this world. Initially, I was stunned by such an out of touch statement, but that reaction morphed into silent, white hot anger. I slowly and deliberately uttered, “February 25, 2006.” I choose to seek the good in people. I deliberately anticipate kindness and humility from strangers and loved ones. Most people mistake this mindset as naïveté, but it is simply choosing and seeking positivity in negative, gray spaces. Yes, evil runs rampant in this world, but so does love. I will choose love. I do not expect it in return, but I will choose to reflect His love. It is challenging some of the time; it requires discipline, boldness and perseverance. Full transparency: If I do not choose to reflect Jesus’ love, then I will become indifferent & jaded, forever poisoned by the bitter root of hate. Toby would not want that for me, nor does Christ. Through the evil that plagues this side of Heaven, I will choose to live in His joy. I will hand my bitterness and anger over to my Savior, Jesus, and let Him seek justice. He is my hope, my salvation, and my perfect peace. He is my dwelling place. Christ’s love controls me. Amen. -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Every Monday morning, I email the detective in charge of Toby’s case. Sometimes I inquire about recent activity, other times I reach out just to check in. Every single time my intention is to keep Toby Beaugh in the detective’s mind. The 2024 Cold Case Symposium was a game changer. I had the great fortune of meeting and connecting with people who are passionate, dedicated and committed to walking alongside and lifting up surviving families and their loved one(s). Mom and I were encouraged to continue our mission to make headway in Toby’s case, to get answers from law enforcement, to continue asking questions, and to be heard. We were encouraged to get a copy of Toby’s case file. I had no idea the can of worms that I was going to open, nor the size of the ego that I was poking. I was not going to be deterred; I was going to continue to press in order to receive the entire file. I was met with resistance and excuses, but I stayed the course. Christmas Eve I received an email containing a file with Toby’s case. Upon reviewing it, I immediately knew that information was missing. So, I sent an email. Yesterday, I received a package containing DVD’s of video footage pertaining to Toby’s case. Small victories, but information is missing. Tomorrow morning is Monday, and I will send another email. I have learned that this process is a marathon, not a sprint. I will stay the course. -Claire Cunningham, survivor

One thing I often wish others knew is what this loss feels like on a daily basis for a survivor. I do not wish this experience on anyone but having someone's compassion and understanding of how this loss completely consumes people sometimes is important to me. "Loss is loss" right? No. But people believe this. When my dad died, I had people tell me stories of their losses. Their experiences did not sound like mine and I was lost. How do you express how it feels to be so betrayed and violated by someone killing your loved one willingly? How do you ever express that and regain hope? In my experience being heard comes from hearing others like you, allowing gratitude in not comparison, and simply telling our story. I have shared my dad's murder story with minor detail for 16 years and every time it opens up conversation with someone who needed to tell their story. Listening and hearing them helps me then find hope and faith that this is not the end even if painful. Allow hope to be a part of your story. Allow your story to be heard. Allow good in....

Our home was so cozy and festive this Christmas season. Lighted garland hung over every doorway, mirror, bannister, and window. Wreaths adorned every door, and bells hung from every doorknob. Three Christmas trees were heavy with a ridiculous amount of sentimental ornaments, and mistletoe was strategically hung so that the ‘chef’ was always kissed. Our home isn’t sparkling anymore. Everything has been stored. Remnants of tinsel and garland have been vacuumed; the Christmas sweater has been laundered, and the Christmas brooches have been removed from the lapels of coats. …& like clockwork my body freezes when I shockingly realize what season comes next. Pause. Full stop. Nope. Can’t do it. Mardi Gras is the next season, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and bury myself under the covers until it’s over. Emotions are flowing differently this year because of the horrific domestic terrorist attack in New Orleans. My heart is shattered and broken for the victims and their families. All I know to do is to be still, to focus on my complete faith in Him , to cry out for peace and healing. He will bring light into the darkness. He will. -Claire Cunningham, Survivor

The seconds, minutes, hours, and days following Toby’s murder are a hazy , confusing blur. I don’t remember much of my drive from Hattiesburg to the hospital in New Orleans. I remember very little about the drive from New Orleans to Broussard. My boyfriend, now husband, bravely and stoically stepped in to guide our family through decisions and arrangements that needed to be made. I remember meeting the funeral director and walking out. I remember being asked about specific scriptures and songs only to find myself walking out again and again. I remember sitting on the floor of my parents living room obsessing over finding every single photo they had of Toby. I was totally useless. I kept telling myself that Toby would walk through the front door and I would ‘wake up’ and emerge from the fog. All I wanted to do was escape, to flee, to run as fast as I could to get as far away from everyone who insisted on planning this ridiculous, unnecessary funeral. I refused to believe that Toby was dead. Despite seeing his broken body in the hospital, I refused to believe that he was gone. I was tasked with bringing Toby’s suit, shirt and tie to the funeral director. I certainly don’t remember the drive, but I vividly remember crawling into the backseat and clinging to Toby’s suit as it hung on the hanger. Time slowed, tears flowed, and Toby and I talked . I begged him to come back. I told him to always be with me. I told him to always find ways to let me know that he is with me. Toby’s tear stained suit eventually made it to the funeral director, but I haven’t any idea how. He has kept his backseat promise of finding clever ways to show me that he is always with me -Survivor, Claire Cunningham

Another year has passed. I celebrated a birthday recently. I still looked at my phone at 6am and remembered my dad's call. He would always try to be the first to say happy birthday. And if I am honest, in a way, he will always still be because he gets the first for so many things in my life. He is first to celebrate with me, first to be sad and cry with me, and has a front row to every part of my life. This is true because he lives in me and through me. He still is my best friend in many ways. No, I know what you may be thinking. He is not here so 'its not the same' right? But while that is logically true, when we allow our perspective of grief and pain to shift to what is possible, beautiful things happen. Everyone reading this has a unique relationship with their loved one and whoever killed them is not allowed to hold the power of changing that relationship. Their memory, meaning in your life, and who they were was not murdered. They live even in the pain of the loss, the joy in the new life thats being developed, and all of the in between. Let them show up.

I remember everything about that frozen moment in time all too well. Sometimes I can recall everything in detail; other times I cannot remember a thing. Some memories are crystal clear as if happening in real time. Some memories are hazy and fuzzy despite my best efforts to remember. The remembering hits differently this time of year. Cooler temperatures and barren trees represent moving deeper into a new season. I love it. I hate it. I am sad; my sleep is restless; I am a master daydreamer and cloud gazer. I am quieter; I want to sleep; I isolate and retreat into the corner of the couch losing myself in documentaries or audio books that are about the holocaust, true crime, survivor, and memoir related. I am heavy; I am in my head; I am without a smile, grin or laugh. All I can think about is being transported with my family back in time to relive holidays when Toby was alive. …but that’s not living, nor is it realistic. So, I will fill my home with lights this Christmas season as a reminder that light overcomes the darkness. I will cast my sorrows at the feet of Christ who is the light of the world. He will turn my melancholy into joy. My heart will be light. I will sing songs of worship because he carries me through deep waters. “Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give LIGHT to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace.” Luke 1:78-79 -Survivor, Claire Cunningham