Guest post by Felecia Marshall

On March 14, 2017, I received a call that shattered my entire world. My daughter, Alexia—Lexi—had been murdered, gunned down during a drive-by shooting. One bullet from an AK-47 pierced her heart.

No mother expects that call. I didn’t. And if you’re reading this, you probably don’t think it could happen to you either. But it happened to me. From that moment on, my life split into two parts: my before and my after. And truthfully, I’ve been living in the “my after” ever since.

Nothing prepares you for the weight of a child’s murder. I was in shock then—and in many ways, I still am. My mind couldn’t understand it then, and eight years later, parts of me still can’t. I remember standing in a room full of loved ones that night yet feeling completely alone. I was floating above it all, disconnected, while the reality of what had happened clung to me like a shadow. No one in that room—no one in the entire world—could feel what I was feeling.

I was Lexi’s mother. I carried her, birthed her, nurtured her, protected her, and even kept her heart intact as she healed from open heart surgery. And now, I had to find a way to survive a pain I didn’t have the words to describe. The kind of pain that makes it hard to breathe. Hard to stand. I learned then that sometimes we care for loved ones who are still living, but sometimes we care for the memory of those we’ve lost.

As the hours turned into days, I watched death tear through everything we had built. Grief was the only thing left standing. Lexi’s death didn’t just break our hearts—it tore at the very fabric of our lives.

We didn’t just lose her. We lost our balance. We lost our rhythm. We lost each other for a while.

Then came the courts.

It was like dragging open wounds through a field of thorns. I entered that system as a grieving mother, but I quickly learned I was also expected to become an investigator, an advocate, a secretary, and a watchdog. All for Lexi. Because she couldn’t speak for herself, and it was my sacred duty to speak for her.

Three plea deals. Fifteen years. Twelve years. Five years. That was the price the system placed on my daughter’s life.

Grieving while navigating that process was like waging war on two fronts. One with my own sorrow and one with a system never designed to carry my pain. I wanted justice for Lexi—but I also wanted someone, anyone, to see her. To see me. To recognize that Lexi was more than a victim. She was a daughter, a mother, a sister, a person who mattered.

Every day, I still feel Lexi’s absence. That kind of loss doesn’t fade. The hole never fills. That kind of love never leaves you. There are still nights I lie awake, whispering prayers into the dark, asking why.

But I keep going. I keep going because God is using this pain in His redemptive work. I keep going because Lexi’s life—and death—matter. I keep going because every family affected by violence deserves to be seen, heard, loved, and supported. And I keep going because if my voice, an embrace from my arms, or my words can help someone else step forward in their own healing journey, then Lexi’s legacy lives on.

In caring for my daughter’s memory, I care for myself.

And that…is my beautiful ashes.

To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.
Isaiah 61:3 KJV

Felecia Marshall has always found joy in life’s simplest moments. Tragically, her life took a devastating turn on March 14, 2017, when her daughter was murdered. In the depths of her grief, Grant Me Justice: The Voice for the Victim, an organization serving families of homicide emerged and became her lifeline. Her book, Grant Me Justice: A Mother’s Journey from Murder and Mourning to Mercy and Dancing, has brought healing to many.

Tracy Crump dispenses hope in her award-winning book, Health, Healing, and Wholeness: Devotions of Hope in the Midst of Illness (CrossLink Publishing: 2021). A former intensive care nurse, she cared for her parents and her mother-in-law and understands both the burdens and joys of caregiving. Her devotions have been featured in Guideposts books, The Upper Room, and many other publications, and she has contributed 26 stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul® books. She also conducts writing workshops, produces a newsletter for writers, and does freelance editing. But her most important job is Grandma to five completely unspoiled grandchildren.