THE PAGES THAT HELD ME w/Jacqueline Gates

Jacqueline Gates has lived through the unimaginable—the tragic loss of her daughter Joelle. In the wake of profound grief, Jackie found solace in journaling, filling page after page for 25 years as a way to heal, to hold on, and to honor Joelle’s legacy. A poet, author, and advocate, Jackie now uses her voice to help others find their own path through loss. With faith as her compass and writing as her torch, she invites us to reimagine grief not as something to survive—but something to shape us.

ALLIÉ: I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child—but more than imagining it, Jackie, you had to experience it. If you would, let’s start from the beginning. Please take us back 38 years ago. What happened to your daughter, Joelle?

JACQUELINE: It was the worst day of my life. It was January 12, 1987. I was ill at the time, and my ex-husband had the children. They were coming home to go to school and were crossing the highway. The younger child, Heather, was in the car, and Keith, who was 12, was holding Joelle’s hand. She slipped from Keith’s fingers. A gentleman driving to work hit her.

She flew in front of our home. She was pronounced dead at the scene—but then brought back to life on life support. I ran outside in my pajamas. The mind is a powerful tool, Allié. I immediately shifted—from physical illness to the shock of grief.

They tore me away from Joelle, but I just wanted to surround her. Her body was limp… It was terrible. Truly the worst thing in my life. I’m sorry for crying, but you never forget. She was only 10.

It’s still a nightmare for Keith. The siblings suffer too. And it happened on Grandma Rose Bush’s birthday. It was terrible for everyone.

The ambulance took her to the hospital, and I remember screaming in the hallways. After three days, she was flown by helicopter to Beaumont. She was in a persistent vegetative state. That means you have to be in that condition for more than a month with involuntary movements—like opening and closing eyes—but no awareness. It looked like she was awake, which made it even harder to understand.

I could hardly look at her... to see her that way… And still, I had to keep everyone together—my other two children. I was a single mom. Let me tell you, it rips your heart and soul apart. You’re just... not whole anymore. It was devastating, Allié.

ALLIÉ: I can’t imagine. And it wasn’t just your grief—you were carrying the grief of your children, your whole family. You had to show up for them, while somehow still taking care of yourself. After a loss like that, I don’t know where I would even begin. But you did begin—with a pen. You started journaling.

JACQUELINE: Yes, I did. I always loved to write. I started writing poetry young, and after Joelle, I started journaling. My faith kept me intact. I journaled for 25 years. It wasn’t always neat or organized—it was angry words, scattered thoughts. I was angry at God. I was angry at anyone who looked like Joelle.

I moved through the stages of grief—but not in order. Acceptance took a long time. I followed the model from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. I loved her books. Over time, journaling helped me find peace. And when I found that peace, I wanted to help others.

I asked for a sign. I said, “God, if Joelle is okay, send me a hummingbird.” I was sitting at my dining room table, and a little hummingbird flew past the window. That was my sign… that Joelle was in heaven. That was my peace.

That moment told me I could help others. I believe our manifestations of love, faith, and creativity—through journaling, music, or any form of expression—can bring healing. Maybe not right away. But in time.

ALLIÉ: When it comes to music, was there a specific song Joelle loved?

JACQUELINE: Yes. She loved Cyndi Lauper.

ALLIÉ: Who doesn’t?

JACQUELINE: Right? That was her era. She would’ve been 49 this May 20th. She loved “True Colors.” That was her song. And I still love it, too. I want to see Cyndi Lauper in concert this August with my daughter.

ALLIÉ: Back to the journaling—because it wasn’t just for yourself. You wrote books to help others, too—about grief, about the right to die, about death with dignity. Can we talk more about that? Because I’ll admit—I don’t know much about it. And Joelle made history, didn’t she?

JACQUELINE: Yes. Joelle’s case became Michigan’s first right-to-die minor case. After deep discussion and counseling with Dr. Alexa Canady—who was the first Black female neurosurgeon in the U.S.—we understood Joelle’s condition. Dr. Canady has now retired from Children’s Hospital in Detroit, but she helped us understand the gravity of Joelle’s state. 

With guidance from the hospital social worker and Father McGrath, Fran (my ex-husband) and I decided to let Joelle go naturally. But it was election time, and the prosecutor caught wind of it. We were accused of trying to kill our daughter.

There was a seven-day trial. The story went national. There was a bioethics committee involved, and we fought to protect Joelle’s interests. After seven days, the judge asked me to take the stand. He asked what I wanted. Fran and I agreed—we wanted Joelle removed from life support.

My decision was rooted in the truth: Joelle had already died at the roadside. It wasn’t about assisted suicide. It wasn’t Kevorkian. It was about letting her go. The judge ruled that parents had the right to make that decision. I never changed my mind. Fran passed away three years ago. He gave an interview years back—he would be proud of me for continuing to speak out.

ALLIÉ: The fact that there was a seven-day trial… You were already facing the unthinkable—and then to have that legal burden too… I can’t imagine how much that added to the pain.

JACQUELINE: It was terrible. To this day, there is no national legal right to die in the U.S. There are death with dignity laws in 10 states. They apply to adults—18 or older—who are mentally competent and have less than six months to live. With a physician’s approval, they can take medication to end their life.

I couldn’t do that myself, but I understand why others might. People face unbearable pain. Sky-high healthcare costs. And some just don’t want to live through certain diagnoses. You never know what someone else is carrying. We have to lead with compassion.

ALLIÉ: Let’s talk more about you. In addition to the profound loss you’ve endured, you’ve also lived with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma for nearly a decade. Yet you continue to write—with faith and fire. So, on the days that feel heavy or hollow… Where do you go—to find the light again?

JACQUELINE: I take my golden retriever, Buddy, and my husband Richard—he’s my rock—and we go for walks. I love to walk. I pray. I meditate. I talk to God. And I talk to myself. I ground myself. This might sound strange to some, but not to you, I think.

When you have a chronic illness, you have to engage parts of your brain that people often neglect. When I feel myself slipping into illness—mental or physical—I ground myself. I’ve dealt with mental illness for 42 years. I haven’t been hospitalized in over 25.

I walk barefoot—even in the winter sometimes. I look toward the sun, even through sunglasses. And I believe in healing. I’ve experienced healing. You need a support system. You need people who are positive—people who lift you up. Negativity? It’s toxic. I don’t allow it near me.

I love myself. And when you truly love yourself, you can love others more fully. That’s what journaling gave me—self-love, and the power to help others. I also cook for people. My mother was a great Irish cook. I use herbs and broths—healing food. I cook for people who are ill. And helping others heal... helps me heal, too. ∎

​Find Jacqueline's book online:
JOELLE'S CRY FOR JUSTICE
https://awarenow.us/book/joelles-cry-for-justice