If I Am Missing Or Dead

A Sister's Story of Love, Murder, and Liberation

Some books don't just tell a story—they call back your own memories. “If I Am Missing or Dead” did that for me.

“If I Am Missing or Dead: A Sister’s Story of Love, Murder, and Liberation” written by Janine Latus, was published in 2007 by Simon and Schuster. If you’d like to join me in reading, you can pick up a copy at Thriftbooks or Better World Books for about $5. [these are not sponsor links]

Initially it did not hold my attention, but as I’ve continued to wade in, I’ve become more attached to the storyline. Reading the book has also resurfaced long-forgotten memories—experiences shared with Janine and her sister Amy. Times when men forced their preferences onto you, into you, through you, above you.

Reading this memoir, I am contemplating—

is abuse avoidable when it's been ingrained in one's reality since childhood?

On the back jacket, the synopsis gives away the bulk of the storyline— both Janine and her sister Amy were ensnared in abusive “relationships.” Janine escapes, but Amy does not. A question is posed: “How…did two seemingly well-adjusted, successful women end up in a string of abusive relationships with men?” This question lingered in my mind as I got into the book, but dissipated soon.

Instead, I wondered how Janine could not have gotten trapped in abusive dynamics? From her early childhood Janine experienced a steady procession of disrespect, objectification, and assault. Reading through Janine’s recollections (the book is a memoir), these experiences invoked fear, shame, exhaustion, and familiarity.

Janine is first assaulted when she is 12, while babysitting the neighbor’s children. The children’s father grinds on her, pins her down until she escapes. Telling her parents, her own father’s response is that if she tells anyone, she’ll be known as a slut. At 13, on a vacation at the lake, she is asleep while the 20-something-year-old son of a teacher touches her vagina. At 17, she is followed home from a bar and raped in her living room. These traumas happen against the steady backdrop of being belittled and harassed by her father. By bosses, by customers at the bar she works at, by many.

After these events, how shall we look at the trajectory of a woman’s life and wonder— how could she be abused? Instead, it seems more suitable— how can we try to find a way off this arc?

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As Kirkus Reviews noted, Latus writes to save women like herself— “women so desperate for love that they’ll pay any price for it.” That price, as Amy’s story shows, can cost a woman her life. They call the book “an honest, unsparing look at the deadly erosion of self-worth.”

Abusers ensnare us with love bombing, with the fairy tale romance, so saccharine sweet and we are desperate for it. After a lifetime of mistreatment, how can we not yearn for some uplift? I suspect that many of us had little to no awareness of just how vulnerable we were; just how much the illusion of love would drag us in.

I look back at my trap, and I had little self-awareness. I did not recognize how disadvantaged I was, how vulnerable. And I’m not sure how someone could have shown me, or who.

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Then, from Goodreads, these comments struck me as truthful:

“If you ever find yourself listening to a story of a woman who stayed in an abusive relationship and asking yourself, ‘Why in the name of all that is holy did she not leave?’ then you need to read this book. If you ever thought of women in abusive relationships with disdain for their weaknesses and their dependencies, then you need to read this book. Also, if you have ever been in an abusive relationship, I recommend this as well. I found it to be healing and inspiring, and it is motivating me to get involved in anti-DV activism.” — Caitlin Constantine

“My greatest hope is that anyone who reads this book, or any book like it - whether they enjoyed the read, or hated the read - will see the signs in their own abused loved ones and ask the right questions or send on the right resources, before it is too late. You can't force someone to leave if they're not ready, but you can help them be prepared when they are ready.” — Mystique

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Amy Latus was 37 when her boyfriend, Ron Ball, murdered her. Ten weeks prior to her disappearance, she had taped a handwritten note to the inside of her desk, addressed to the county sheriffs. It listed their debts, it described their fights. The note read, “If I am missing or dead, pick up Ron Ball.”

Later in the note she wrote:

“I hope someday to find this and think it’s funny.

But if I don’t, don’t let him get away with it.”

[Listen to the details of the note at the 12:00 minute mark in Janine’s TedTalk]

I tried searching for news coverage of the case, and criminal records, but it turned up little, save for this short post on his apprehension.

Although I could not find the original link to this article, only a reposting of it on a now defunct Google group, it offered a little more context on the case.

“According to the sheriff, Ball had been dating Latus and his current girlfriend at the same time. Latus had loaned Ball money and obtained financing for his truck, so he remained financially beholden to Latus while starting a new relationship, the sheriff has said. Authorities have speculated that Ball killed her to disentangle himself from the relationship while avoiding any financial repercussions.”

This seemed like such a classic portrayal of the abuser. Here he is, having siphoned off resources, like a parasite of a host, two-timing all the while. I relate to Amy Latus; I also gave money, time, care and attention to these bums, these derelicts. And I did so with a smile on my face and love in my heart. You see what you get in return and it’s always a kick to the gut.

I feel embarrassed for Amy and myself, that we sunk so low, that we might be duped in this way. I feel sorrow for Amy and for myself— for how deeply we wanted to believe in love. Or for how ill-equipped we were to identify what love really looks like.

Yet, circling back to this earlier conundrum— when we’ve had a series of experiences, since youth, where men (including, importantly, the father figure) have harassed and hollowed us, was there some juncture where we have avoided this eventuality? Or, another way, just how much can our parents poison us? If I’d had a good dad, would I have gotten a good husband?

Readers, I’d love to hear your thoughts and wisdom.