For Linda Cassel, the mere mention of her son's name, Blayne Ferguson, can send her into an emotional tailspin.
"When I'm having a good day, that's something I don't want to think about," the Vernon woman told The Morning Star. "I don't want to think about what happened to him."
Friday, March 21, marks 18 months since the disappearance of Ferguson, a father of two who was 27 when he went missing.
His family believes he is no longer alive.
Police said last week that criminality was suspected in Ferguson's case from the onset of the investigation. The Vernon North Okanagan RCMP's Serious Crime Unit has had conduct of the investigation since the beginning and continues to actively investigate, said media relations officer Cpl. Tania Finn.
"At this time, we don't have any new or additional information to release," Finn said in an email.
Those are familiar words to Cassel's ears. Police email her every week with an update on the case. Every update is the same: the investigation is ongoing, and there's nothing new to report.
Cassel said she appreciates being contacted, but at the same time, each update feels like "a kick in the teeth." When the email hits her inbox it sparks a blip of excitement; a mother's undying hope is given momentary fuel. When she opens the email to receive yet another no-news update, she plunges into grief.
It's part of the emotional instability that comes with the relentless feeling of unknowing inherent to a lengthy disappearance case. While a death can be grieved and processed with time, a disappearance is a wound that traces of hope won't allow to heal.
"I want closure, because I can't start healing and I can't start attempting to live and try to be happy until I know he's at rest," Cassel said.
More than closure, she wants justice for her son who she believes was killed.
Cassel said a video had been posted on social media not long after Ferguson's disappearance. Her youngest son watched, with horror, the clip that purported to show Ferguson being "brutally assaulted" by as many as four people. Police have not said anything about the video, but Cassel said she knows it exists.
She said someone she knows also saw the video and knew the name of one of the alleged perpetrators. Cassel looked up the name on the online court services portal and found several charges with a file number next to them. The file number, she said, matched the file number of her son's case. A few other people were facing charges alongside the person whose name she obtained, she said.
Cassel is not sharing the names, as police have said doing so could damage the integrity of the case.
But her patience is running short, as she said the charges that appeared online were stayed mere days after Ferguson was reported missing, and no more charges have been laid since.
Cassel said she has seen the people who she believes killed her son around town.
"I'll see them walking down the street and I'll stop and freeze."
Faith in justice waning
Every day spent hoping for justice sees that hope fade a little.
Cassel said she's not a vindictive or a vengeful person. She doesn't wish ill on people. But she often wishes that the alleged perpetrators could experience the pain they've caused her family.
"I believe in karma. I used to believe in justice, but I don't have much faith in justice anymore," she said.
She understands that police have to conduct their investigation close to the vest. She also knows that 18 months after a disappearance, the chances of lasting charges are somewhat diminished.
In lieu of charges, she's hoping that a call to justice will enter to consciences of people who have yet to speak up — and if the video shows what Cassel thinks it does, Ferguson's killing was not done in isolation. There are people who know something.
Perhaps, she said, they don't want to be a snitch. Whatever the case, she thinks they should go to the police.
"I think they should be ashamed of themselves ... Just tell us where he is so we can lay him to rest," she said. "I have lost faith in humanity, I have lost faith in our justice system, and I just want someone to prove me wrong."
Turning his life around
Ferguson was taking control of his life before he suddenly disappeared. He had just got out of the hospital a few days before he went missing, and was looking forward to getting into treatment for substance addiction.
"He was really taking the steps to get his life on the right path again," Cassel said. "He was not just on the right track, but looking forward to being proud of himself again."
She said her son made mistakes in his life but was a good person. She remembers when he was 12 and what a "godsend" he was around the house, picking his siblings up from school and helping them with their homework.
"He'd always been there for my daughter to talk to," she said. "He was her go-to. If something was bothering her, she went to her big brother, and she doesn't have that anymore."
Ferguson was special from birth; he was the first boy born in Cassel's side of the family in 35 years.
He had a special relationship with all of his grandparents. His dad's parents are gone but Cassel's parents are still living, and live every day knowing that he is gone, Cassel said.
Cassel wonders what her grandchildren will do without their dad, and laments the memories he'll miss.
"I was the first person to hold my granddaughter when she was born, and he'll never experience that (again). He'll never get to walk his daughter down the aisle. He won't be there when his son comes home and tells him he's fallen in love."
Cassel says she is grateful beyond words for her family who has supported her over the last year and a half. And it hasn't just been her family.
"I have found support in so many places that I would have never thought support would have come from. People I considered acquaintances have turned out to be amazing friends," she said. "I would from the bottom of my heart like to thank each and every person that has been there, that has said a kind word, that has checked in on me and my kids, my family.
"If I have anything to say, it's hug your children, tell them you love them. Phone your parents, let them know how you're doing. Because tomorrow's not promised."
It may be that some days Cassel can't bear to hear her son's name. But that doesn't mean he's not always in her thoughts.
"I think about memories that make me smile and the things he did and his little funny quirks, or the things he did as a little kid," she said.
For Cassel and the rest of Ferguson's family, the wait for answers continues.
