30 years after she went missing: ashes, a pair of earrings, and closure

The stories we tell often are left at the dinner table, cast aside like gristle and crumbs then forgotten, but there are other life narratives that become a part of us, shape us and await a storyteller’s lilt.

The Moth podcast gives voice to people like you and me, regular folks unaccustomed to the spotlight, who stand at the microphone without notes and further the notion that we all have stories to tell, if told well.

Eileen O’Brien, 69, of Eugene took the stage in front of 2,000 people at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland last December to tell the story of her sister, Jane Doe No. 1385. 

In her back pocket was an earring worn by Marguerite O’Brien, who went missing in 1985. As Eileen began her story, the lights blinded her, and she could not see the audience, including her two sons and their families seated in the second row.

“In 2014,” she began, “I was watching a true-crime story …”

Thus began her story of love and abandonment, faith and lost hope, addiction, forgiveness and voices of the dead.

The O’Briens grew up in the greater Boston area. Eileen was two years younger than Marguerite. There were nine siblings, one of whom died at age 5 from cystic fibrosis. Of the remaining eight, she says, six would experience some form of addiction — alcohol, drugs, food.

Their father was a World War II combat veteran who never escaped the echoes of gunfire. A big, gentle man, he was in and out of alcohol treatment, leaving the bulk of parenting to their mother, who was prone to angry outbursts.

It was a chaotic childhood, and Marguerite was Eileen’s protector. She taught her to steal at age 10, to drink and do drugs a year later. “As kids we focused on survival, how to feel safe in a violent, alcoholic home,” Eileen told the audience. “Marguerite made me feel safe. She looked out for me. … In my world, this was love.”

At age 19, Marguerite had a daughter, Nicole, the only light she would ever see at the far end of a long, unforgiving tunnel. 

She was sober during pregnancy, but the weight of her disease soon overcame her. At age 3, Nicole was taught how to stand on a chair to reach the wall phone so she could call for help as needed.

And when she was 4, she made the call when she was unable to awaken her mother. Nicole was taken to her oldest aunt. Initially it was viewed as a temporary measure, but as Marguerite struggled to remain sober, it became permanent.

Nicole Oullette, now 52, is married with two children. She graduated from Westfield State College in Massachusetts with a business degree, and now works at her husband’s wealth management firm.

She says her mother always kept in touch with her and never stopped expressing her desire to reunite. She didn’t want Nicole to give up on her. Her letters were written on nice stationary and often included photos and stickers.

In 1985, at age 11, Nicole realized she hadn’t heard from her mother in some time, and the family became concerned. Earlier that year, Marguerite had contacted Eileen from a phone booth in New York saying she was heading west to begin anew.

There was desperation in her voice, which Eileen recognized as her own. She, too, was battling demons and was concerned that her drinking might result in her sons being taken away.

“Saying goodbye,” Eileen told the audience, “We promised each other that we were going to get sober, and we were going to be good mothers, but that was the last time we ever spoke.”

Then she paused. She heard a voice choking back tears in the audience and recognized it as that of her son. Her family had not heard the entire story. Eileen gathered herself quickly, rubbing her hands together as she described the moment she became sober.

She had passed out on the floor, and when she came to, she couldn’t find her sons. She went outside screaming for them, fearing they had been taken from her.

“I begged God. I said, ‘I can’t live like this anymore.’”

Eileen is a medium and sound healer. She hears voices of the dead, and there had been times when she heard Marguerite’s voice guiding her, encouraging her to get sober.

“You’re done now,” Eileen heard her say. It was her older sister again watching out for her. She never forgot that voice, those words. The drinking had to stop.

Eileen found work as a typist at Salem State University in Massachusetts and enrolled in classes, earning a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s degree in higher education administration. By the time she retired from the school in 2017, she had worked her way up to associate vice president of institutional advancement, helping to raise funds for the school. Three years later, she moved to Eugene to be closer to her two sons and their families.

Marguerite was reported missing, but the search never gained traction. Nicole hired a private detective at one point, but her mother, often homeless, left no trail.

Over time, the search stalled. It wasn’t until Eileen saw the television show about the unidentified women slain in Arizona that she turned up new information.

After watching the show, Eileen went to her computer and searched “missing persons” and “unidentified remains.” She had searched the internet throughout Marguerite’s disappearance, but for the first time she saw the name of a website that used DNA to match unidentified bodies with relatives.

It was called the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System. She called Nicole, and they provided DNA samples. It was about seven months later that two police officers showed up at Eileen’s door.

There had been a match with a Jane Doe. Nicole and Eileen flew to California and met with a detective in Fontana, east of Los Angeles in San Bernardino County.

Detective Bob Hunter had just started his job when he was called upon to investigate a fatal car incident. He was with Marguerite when she died on Aug. 3, 1985, after being struck by a pickup while crossing a street. She had no identification. Her ashes were buried in Doe Cemetery, little more than a vacant lot surrounded by a chain link fence.

Hunter handed Nicole a plastic bag with Marguerite’s possessions, which included a pair of earrings. Nicole and Eileen each kept one.

Marguerite’s ashes were exhumed and placed in an urn. When Nicole saw it, a lifetime of emotions came pouring out. She said she understood that life had not been kind to her mother, and she apologized for the anger that had built inside her through the years.

Eileen stood back. She had made good on the promise she made 30 years earlier during their telephone conversation. She knew Marguerite always intended to be with Nicole, and finally she was. And Nicole did for her mother what her mother could never do for her.

She took her home.

Years before, she had added her mother’s name to her grandmother’s headstone with only her name and date of birth. On a beautiful summer day, Nicole hugged the urn and gently placed it into the ground. 

Nicole found closure, and Eileen found an ending to her story.

“After a long silence, I placed my hand in Nicole’s,” she told the Portland audience, “and we walked away.”

Eileen told her story in Boston earlier this month and has been asked by The Moth to tell it in other cities. After her final performance, the story will be posted on The Moth website.