But when I picked up the book from where it had fallen, splayed open to Chapter 1, I saw that wasn’t the source of her displeasure. Chapter 1 was (rather clumsily) titled We Are Your Family Now. Plus, Helpful Hints for Disassociating with Non-Member Persons (Including Blood).
But even worse, the word best had been written in the margin in my mother’s distinctive handwriting. I had no idea what she meant by that, but I could only imagine, and, given the context, it made me feel slightly sick.
I shoved the things back inside the box and decided to take a run to clear my head. But because I am nothing if not a glutton for punishment, I scrolled through the #Reconsidered hashtag as I climbed the stairs to change. According to Twitter, a special episode of the podcast had been uploaded that morning. Against my better judgment, I downloaded it and queued it up for my run.
Excerpt from transcript of Reconsidered: The Chuck Buhrman Murder, Episode 4: “All About Erin,” September 25, 2015
Who was Erin Buhrman? That’s the question on everyone’s mind, so I decided to devote a special episode to her. We’ll be back on Monday to our regularly scheduled programming.
Erin Buhrman was born Erin Ann Blake in Elm Park, Illinois, in 1966, the daughter of a farmer and a first-generation American of Irish heritage, the second of three children. As far as I can tell, Erin had a generally happy childhood . . . until January 1978. That was when eleven-year-old Erin was playing with her eight-year-old brother Dennis near a frozen pond on the family farm. Somehow, Dennis fell through the ice and drowned. According to local legend, Erin went in after him and nearly died of hypothermia.
Sarah Spicer, a former classmate of Erin’s, spoke with me about how Dennis’s death affected Erin.
SARAH:
Erin used to be my best friend. I was a farm kid, too, so we had that in common. She was so sweet and silly, always ready to tell a joke or play a prank. But everything was different after Dennis died. It was like the life had just been sucked out of her. I don’t think I ever saw her smile again. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s not. She became a completely different person.
Erin may never have wholly recovered from losing her brother, but she did smile again. After graduating from high school, Erin enrolled in Elm Park College. It was there, of course, that she met her future husband, Chuck Buhrman. While some may have disapproved of the relationship—Chuck was, after all, her professor—those close to Erin saw it as a positive. Jason Kelly, Erin’s former brother-in-law, remembers being pleased at the impact Chuck was having on Erin’s life.
JASON:
Chuck was the best thing that ever happened to Erin. By the time she met him, I’d been dating Amelia for three years or so, and I don’t think I saw Erin smile, really smile, once during all that time. Then she started dating Chuck, and all of a sudden she was smiling and laughing and telling jokes. Terrible jokes—she had no sense of comedic timing, but she was trying.
She started baking again, too. A always talked about how much her sister loved to bake when they were kids, and then she stopped when their brother died. Shortly after she and Chuck started dating, we had them both over for A’s birthday. Erin brought over this cake she’d made. It was a horrible cake, just awful. She’d made some sort of serious error in the measurements, but she was so damn pleased with herself for baking again that we all raved about how great it was. Then she took a bite herself and realized it was practically inedible, and we all kind of held our breath, wondering how she was going to react. She just laughed until she cried. I remember how happy A was that night, thinking Erin was returning to her old self.
Erin and Chuck were married two years after meeting, and their twin daughters were born the following year. Jason hinted at some dark periods for Erin in the intervening years, saying that he knew sometimes his wife would be worried about her sister’s mental state, but in general, he reported that life in the Buhrman household was happy and uneventful.
Then, in 2000, Erin and Amelia’s beloved parents were killed by a drunk driver. I was told that this event plunged Erin into a depression. She became withdrawn and her mood swings became sharper and more prevalent.
JASON:
A and I were splitting up back then, so I wasn’t really around. But a mutual friend told me Erin took the accident really hard. For example, some people had organized meal deliveries for both A and Erin, but Erin refused to accept it. I guess she just left the baskets on the front porch. Sometimes the girls would come outside and collect them, sometimes Chuck would bring them in when he got home—and he was getting home really late, I guess, like nine, ten o’clock. It didn’t sound like a good situation.
It seems cruel and unimaginably unfair for a woman whose brother died before her eyes and who lost both parents in one night to then have her husband snatched away from her as well, but that is, as we know, exactly what happened.
And that’s when things really went sideways.
Already depressed and prone to bouts of reclusiveness, Erin became despondent after her husband’s death. She and her daughters moved across town into her sister Amelia’s house. She refused to leave the house other than to attend Warren Cave’s trial, and while there she didn’t engage with anyone, declining to even give reporters the courtesy of a “no comment.” Once the trial had concluded, Erin retreated to her sister’s house, and no one outside her immediate family saw her in Elm Park again.
Even friends were shunned. Beverly Dodds White, the high school friend Erin was visiting while her husband was being murdered blocks away, explained to me just how much Erin had changed.
BEVERLY:
Erin and I were close in high school, but we fell out of touch after she got married. We reconnected when I moved back to Elm Park after my divorce. It was October 2002, and, before I’d even finished moving in, I learned I needed emergency oral surgery to remove my wisdom teeth. They said I should have a friend come, and I didn’t know anyone in town besides Erin. I took a chance and gave her a call. I was so grateful she agreed to come with me.
POPPY:
Did you find her as you remembered her?
BEVERLY:
She hadn’t changed a bit. Still very quiet. Of course, that didn’t matter because I couldn’t talk. Still such a kind woman. I was a real wreck post-surgery, zonked on pain medication, slipping in and out of consciousness, but Erin took such good care of me, fetching me ice chips and whatnot.
POPPY:
Did Erin say anything that made you think she or her husband felt threatened? By Warren Cave, or anyone else?
BEVERLY:
I don’t remember her saying anything like that, but I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much. That entire day is a blur for me. Like I said, I was on a lot of pain medication. The only clear memory I have is waking up to the sound of someone pounding on the door, and that was when the police arrived to tell Erin her husband was dead.
POPPY:
What about afterward? Did you and Erin ever discuss Chuck’s murder? Maybe she mentioned something about Melanie or Warren Cave?
BEVERLY:
I only spoke to Erin once after that. A few days later, after I’d recovered, I called to see if there was anything I could do for her. She was completely beside herself. Sobbing, saying it was all her fault, just heartbreaking.
POPPY:
She said it was all her fault?
BEVERLY:
She blamed herself, you know. If she hadn’t been at my house that night, her husband wouldn’t have been alone and he might not have been killed. That was the last time I talked to her. She wouldn’t return any of my other calls. Her husband’s death really just destroyed her.
Beverly’s experience isn’t unique. Erin wouldn’t return anyone’s calls. She stopped leaving the house. It was like she’d disappeared.
And then, one day, she really did.
Pamela Boland, a fellow teacher at the middle school where Amelia teaches, remembers how she learned that Erin was gone.
PAMELA:
It was June. School was out for the summer, but that was the summer they renovated the classrooms in the north wing and expected all the teachers to pitch in. Amelia didn’t show up one morning, which was completely unlike her. She didn’t even call anyone to say she wasn’t coming, and that had me worried. Amelia Kelly has always been one of the most responsible people I know. I figured she must be really ill, and so I swung by her house that afternoon to check on her. Erin was gone. Amelia was completely distraught, saying she was certain her sister had harmed herself. I did my best to console her, but what could I really say? Everyone knew her sister was a few crayons short of a box. Then, a few weeks later, Amelia told me she’d received a letter from Erin saying she had joined something called the Life Force Collective. We looked that up on the internet, and, well, you know what that is.
The infamous Life Force Collective, a cult located in Northern California, promotes a simpler, sun-drenched lifestyle. Little is known about the life that Erin Buhrman—or Sister Anahata, as she was known within the LFC—lived for the last decade. Amelia Kelly never heard from her sister again. Individual LFC members eschew the outside world, and Sister Anahata was no different.
And then, as we all now know, earlier this week, Erin Buhrman’s tragic life came to a tragic end. Her body was found hanging from a tree, an apparent suicide. As far as I am aware, hers is the first instance of an LFC member taking his or her own life. Suicide goes against everything the LFC stands for, and its public relations officer is running himself ragged attempting to dispel any rumors of generalized unrest and depression within the ranks. This man, who calls himself Brother Earnest—that’s Earnest as in the virtue, not as in Hemingway—agreed to join me on a call to discuss Erin Buhrman’s mental state in the days and weeks leading up to her untimely demise. He would not, I was advised, comment on LFC practices, authentic or rumored.
POPPY:
Do you know how Erin Buhrman learned about the Life Force Collective?
EARNEST:
Like many of our brothers and sisters, Sister Anahata was guided to us during a difficult period in her life. She decided to reject the conventional Western lifestyle and embrace a more enlightened approach.
POPPY:
So you don’t know how she found you? Like, on the web or something?
EARNEST:
The Life Force Collective does maintain an internet presence.
POPPY:
Were you around when Erin—excuse me, Sister Anahata—first arrived at the Life Force Collective?
EARNEST:
Yes, I remember her arrival well. Many new members experience a feeling of liberation once they’ve committed to our way of life, but Sister Anahata’s sheer relief was notable. She was one of the most sensitive individuals I have ever met, and the outside world had fractured her spirit. Upon arrival, she was in a dire state.
POPPY:
Did she mention her husband, Chuck Buhrman?
EARNEST:
Not by name, but it was obvious that she’d suffered a great loss. An aura as scattered as hers is nearly unheard of without intense trauma. But with the love and care of our brothers and sisters, Sister Anahata left the burdens of the modern world behind. Within a year’s time, she had made remarkable progress and was an integral part of our community, caring for children, taking lovers, and gracing us all with her unique blend of kindness and light. We are all devastated by her death, and we will miss her terribly.
POPPY:
Do you know if Sister Anahata had access to the internet?
EARNEST:
As I mentioned, we maintain an internet presence. This is managed by our Outreach Team, which is a small, carefully selected group staffed only with members who are unwaveringly devoted to our way of life. Members of the Outreach Team are the only ones who have official access to the internet, a policy that is designed to shield our more sensitive members from the pervasive temptation of the modern world. Sister Anahata was one such sensitive member, and she therefore would not have been accessing the internet in any sanctioned way. That said, our community is hardly a prison and she could have gotten online if she chose.
POPPY:
Do you think Sister Anahata was aware of this podcast and the renewed interest in her husband’s murder?
I am well aware some corners of the internet blame me for Erin Buhrman’s suicide. Since her tragic death five days ago, the possibility that I somehow played a role in it has haunted me.
EARNEST:
I am certain that she was. Not long before Sister Anahata took leave of us, our community was infiltrated by a group armed with cameras and recording devices. They ambushed Sister Anahata as she left morning meditation. Morning meditation is designed to help our members open themselves spiritually, and, following it, she would’ve been particularly vulnerable to abuse. After this encounter, Sister Anahata fell into long-forgotten patterns of self-destruction.
While she might have recovered with the love and support of her brothers and sisters, the following day, a gang of teenagers interrupted a ceremony and began spewing antagonistic venom at Sister Anahata and other members of our collective in attendance. We were all traumatized by the experience, Sister Anahata especially. We here at the Life Force Collective did our best to help her through that darkened period, but ultimately I regret to say that we could not save her.
I have to be honest, Brother Earnest’s words disturbed me. But after many, many hours of reflection, I have come to the conclusion that I don’t think this podcast is to blame. At all.
“But Poppy,” you say, “what about the groups of strangers breaking onto LFC grounds to torment her? Weren’t they fans of your show?”
It seems that way—and let me state for the record that while I am infinitely grateful for the incredible audience participation this podcast has inspired, I never, never want any of my listeners to invade the privacy of anyone connected to this case. Please remember they are not characters—this is real life, and they are real people. Please treat them with respect.
Perhaps if this podcast didn’t exist, no one would have sought out Erin Buhrman at the LFC compound. Then again, they might have. I’m not the only one interested in the Chuck Buhrman murder; I just happen to have the biggest platform. I know of at least twenty different websites—regularly updated websites, I might add—that are dedicated to the case, and conspiracy theories often pop up on the CrimeJunkie.net boards.
And let’s not forget what really killed Erin Buhrman. It wasn’t a group of strangers. It was the ghosts of her own past. She might have found solace from her painful memories in the LFC—or she might have just hidden them deep inside herself—but those memories were still a part of her. Everyone who knew Erin Buhrman knew she was a troubled woman. Even Brother Earnest, whose interactions with Erin were limited to the time she spent with a cult premised on sunshine worship, stated there was a darkness inside her.
And so, while I am sorry if my podcast played any role in the harassment of a vulnerable woman, I can confidently say that it was not to blame for anyone’s death.
chapter 15
I stumbled at the first mention of my late uncle Dennis, and I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk when I heard Uncle Jason’s voice. By the time Poppy Parnell began interviewing Beverly Dodds White, I was so disoriented by hearing that fame-chasing impostor narrate my mother’s life that I had to take a seat on the curb. That was where I remained for the next thirty minutes, listening in horrified curiosity. Every few minutes I would stop the podcast, certain that I’d had enough, that I couldn’t take any more, but I listened until its conclusion.
Even then, I remained seated, stunned. Poppy Parnell might not blame herself for my mother’s death, but she should. Even if her theory was right, even if Warren Cave was spending his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit and my father’s murderer was walking free . . . well, that would be a tragedy, but there were other ways to remedy that. There were legal channels to follow; there was nothin
g that forced her to turn my father’s untimely death into a commodity. I might have sat there all afternoon, thinking black thoughts about Poppy, but the man whose home I was sitting outside of came out to the curb with a bottle of water and asked me if I was feeling all right. I decided it was time to return to Aunt A’s.
“That was a long run,” Caleb commented amiably as I walked through the front door.
I nodded blankly, still processing what I had heard.
“You okay, love?” he asked, squinting at me while he placed the back of his hand against my forehead. “You look pale.”
My instinct was to tell Caleb I was fine, but I remembered my new resolution to be completely honest with him. Just as I opened my mouth to tell him about the podcast, Aunt A stepped into the foyer. I quickly censored myself. I didn’t know whether Aunt A knew an unscheduled episode had been devoted to my mother, and I didn’t want to be the one to break that news.
“I’m fine,” I said, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “I think I just pushed myself too hard. I’m a little light-headed. Nothing a warm shower can’t fix.”
“This is why I don’t believe in running,” Aunt A said, patting her soft midsection.
“You’ll outlast us all, Aunt A,” I said with false brightness. “Caleb, come upstairs and give me a hand?”
Upstairs, I shut the door and collapsed onto the bed, fighting back tears. Caleb took a seat beside me, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. My hip collided softly with his, and I instinctively rested my head on his firm shoulder. He hesitated for a moment longer than I would have liked, but then he caught my head in his hand, holding it in place and gently twisting my hair.
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