The Moth - Mortality: The Moth Radio Hour

Episode Date: October 20, 2026

This week, an episode about our relationship with death: stories from the great beyond and back again. Body transport, mysterious disappearances, and life-or-death crushes. Hosted and produced by Moth Director, Chloe Salmon. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media.Storytellers:Maxie Jones puts his superstitions aside for an unusual side gig.Following a near-fatal car accident, Zainab Johnson develops a powerful crush. After her grandfather's funeral, Jillian Sousley’s grandmother gets creative with the burial.Eileen O'Brien reopens the case of her sister, who has been missing for 30 years.Podcast # 1006

This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Chloe Salmon. One of my favorite shows we do at The Moth takes place in a cemetery. The Greenwood Cemetery and Brooklyn, to be exact. I think it's one of the most beautiful places in the city, almost 500 acres of trees, winding paths, and a quiet that is rarely found here. I sometimes get raised eyebrows when I tell people about the show, and I get it. most folks aren't super comfortable talking or even thinking about death. And yet, our show at Greenwood is one of our fastest selling events of the year.

And I wonder if it's because the setting offers a chance to engage with mortality in a way that bypasses that discomfort. Every June, over 700 people enter the enormous gates, walk through the grounds to the stage, and find a seat. The sun sets, the fireflies come out, and we're all ready to gather among the dead to listen to stories. full of life. I like to imagine that Greenwood's permanent residents also enjoy the show, and the company, most of all. So in this episode, stories that embrace, rebuff, outsmart, and make peace with death. Our first story is from Maxie Jones.

Here he is, live at the moth. It's February 1988. I had just recently graduated from college, came back home to New York. and just started my first job as a teacher. One of my co-workers lost a family member really, really close to him, so to show support, I decided to go to the funeral. I got to the funeral home really early, and no one was there except the funeral director, Anthony.

And I looked at him, and I said, dude, you look familiar. I think I went to another funeral home recently, and you were the funeral director there. He said, I probably was. He said, because I don't work at just one funeral home. I work at several funeral homes around Queens, and I contract myself out. He said, but you know what? I could do so much better if I just didn't have to go into Manhattan every day to pick up those bodies.

I said, what do you mean? He said, you're familiar with the chief medical examiner's office? He said, if I could just get somebody, he was pointing at me. if I could just get somebody to go there every day and pick up those bodies, I could do so much better. I said, shh, pick up bodies. I don't want nothing to do with death or dead people. I'm too superstitious for that.

He said, well, I tell you what, in case you change your mind, I'll pay you $100 a body. I said, shut up, because I was broke. So I just pushed those superstitions aside. You see, I had just recently graduated from college, just started a new teaching job, and because I wasn't certified, I was making like minimum wage as a teacher. I was sleeping on my sister's couch and still driving my old car from college.

I needed myself a good hustle. And in 1988, $100 a body was some good money. So I turned him and I said, $100 a body? He said, yeah. And he said, and you know what? Since I know that you don't like to mess with bodies, I'll make sure that when you go to get them, someone will bring them out and put them in the car.

And then when you bring them back to me, I'll have someone come out and get them. And all you have to do is drive. I said, when do I start? He said, you can start tomorrow. So the next day I got off work, I went to the funeral home. Anthony met me.

He handed me a set of keys. And I was like, this dude got his own hearse. He said, I want you to take that car, go to the chief medical examiner's office, tell him my sent you. And they know what to do. I went. I got into hers. And the thing is, I had a Cadillac before. So I was used to driving a Cadillac, but I never had a Cadillac that just had front seats.

And it had a window right here like in a taxi cab. So I'm driving into Manhattan and I'm driving fast so I can get it done real quickly. And I notice people keep staring at me. And I'm like, why do people keep... Oh, I'm driving a hearse. You don't drive a hearse fast. It's the visual. So I started driving slowly.

Not slowly like I was leading a funeral procession, but slowly. But slowly, and the more slowly I drove, the more time I had to realize what it was I was about to do. I was like, I'm getting ready to do what? Pick up a dead body. Am I crazy or something? What was I thinking? Man, let me turn this thing around. Then I was like, no, I can't do that.

Because if I go back without a body, I'm not going to get paid. So the closer I got to the Chief Medical Examiner's office, the more and more and more I became engulfed with fear. When I got there, just like he said, I said, Anthony sent me, the guys came out, they brought the body out, fully covered in the body bag, slid it into the back of the car, the guy tapped the side of the car and said, she's all set. I looked in the rearview mirror just to make sure everything was okay back there.

and it was then that I noticed I saw that the feet were way to the back which meant that the head was right here behind my seat. I said, okay, I could do this. Come on, Max, you could do this. So I started driving. I'm driving, I'm talking to myself. I'm like, see, man, that wasn't too bad. You could do this.

And after a while, when I realized everything was all right, I had turned up the radio. And I was like, I just got paid. I got to the Queensboro Bridge. It's starting to get dark out. I'm still driving like I'm driving a hearse. It's rush out. Cars are driving past me.

I turned the radio down to a nice level because it is a hearse. I got halfway over the bridge and boom, I hit a pothole. The car went up. Everything went up. The body came back down, woof. And as soon as the body landed, I heard a woman's voice right over my shoulder and said, I froze, fear, shot straight through my body. I looked in the rearview mirror, I said, huh?

What? Did you say something? I didn't get an answer. I didn't know if that was good or bad. I said, okay, maybe they're trying to prank me. Maybe this was a prank. So I was like, all right. That said, the prank is over.

This ain't funny. The prank is over. Still no answer. And I said to myself, all right, this ain't no prank. That's really a dead body back there. I was like, okay, maybe I got a zombie in the back of the car. And I was just so scared, and I'm on this bridge. And since I'm on the bridge, I can't pull over because if I could have,

I would have pulled over and just left that car right there. And then I remember. something my mother told me when I was a kid. My mother said Maxie, if you ever find yourself afraid of the dead, curse at her. She said you got to curse the dead. So I looked on the rear view mirror and I was like, are you dead? Are you dead? You better be dead, motherfucker, because if you're not, I'm going to kill you myself. When I got off the bridge, I stepped on it and I drove all the way back to the funeral home. Speeding? I didn't care I was driving It hurts, so what?

Speeding, staring in the rearview mirror, and cursing. I got back to the funeral home, I pulled in the parking lot, blew the horn, and just like he said, two guys came out to greet me. So one guy came, he started trying to back me in, and as soon as I saw him in my rearview mirror, I said, nope. I threw the car and park, hopped out, and I was like, nope, you take it. I'm out of here. The guys were like what? I was like, no, forget it, I'm out of here, you take it. And I got in my car and I headed home.

And on my way home, I was like, see, see Maxey, there's nothing wrong with this car. You don't need a new car. You can sleep on your sister's couch. When I got home there was a message on my answering machine. Maxi, this is Anthony. Give me a call when you get this message. I called him.

He said, Maxi, what happened? I said, she talked. The body in the back of the car, it talked. What did it say? I don't know. It says something like, ah, something like that. I don't know. Maxy, by any chance, did you like slam on a brakes or hit a bump?

I was like, yeah, I hit a pothole. He said, well, you know, Maxie, sometimes the body still have air in it. And if you hit a bump or something like that, it pushes the air out. And if it comes out of the mouth, then you hear a voice. I said, if it comes out of the mouth, you hear a voice. You didn't say that before. He said, so you want to come back tomorrow? I was like, oh no, over my dead body.

I was so through with him, he asked me, so what about the money? I was like, what money? He said, you're $100. I was like, oh, I don't need no $100. I refused to go to that same funeral home after that for years because any time I would go, I would think that that same body is waiting in the back

to talk to me again. A few years later, I lived in Harlem. And in Harlem, I got to know a few hustlers. And there's one guy, he came up to me. guy, he came up to me. He said, hey, man, I see you working real hard, man. Maybe you want to make a little extra money. He said, I got a way he could make some nice money. I was like, really? How? He said, all you got to do is drive. I said, no, no, man, that sounds scary already. I'll take a pass. Thank you. That was Maxie Jones. He's a native of the Bronx, New York,

who first started telling stories at moth slams in Detroit and Ann Arbor. He's told over 125 stories, and counting, since then, one of which was published in Reader's Digest. At a moth main stage, we ask each storyteller the same question before the show starts and use their answer to introduce them to the stage. For the Greenwood Cemetery show, I mentioned earlier, it's a bit of a moth tradition for the question to be, what do you want written on your tombstone? So I asked each storyteller in this episode the same question. Maxie's answer? He did it his way.

In a moment, a hospital romance and a resting place that isn't so final, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Chloe Salmon, and in this episode, we're hearing stories about two-stepping with the Great Beyond. Zanab Johnson told this story at a main stage at Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland, Oregon, where we were present. presented by literary arts. Here's Danab, live at the mosque. I have never been a good multitasker. If you're talking to me and I'm texting,

just know I haven't heard a word you've said. I find that I work the same way emotionally. I can only handle one major emotional event at a time, which is why I never really understood, like, End of the World movies, where the main characters decide to make passionate love. knowing the zombies are right outside the door. A major emotional event happened for me when I was 17 years old.

I was a senior in high school. I was succeeding as a student athlete. I just found out I was cute. I was filled with nothing but optimism for the future. And then I got hit by a truck unexpectedly. You can't plan for these things. The last thing that I remember is I was in a car with my friend. We were laughing, and then the car shut off, and then I got out,

and to push the back of the car, and then I woke up in an ambulance, briefly, long enough to see that I was covered in blood, and then I woke up days later in a hospital. And just like that, my annoying hopefulness, turned into fear and despair. I was told that I was hit by a drunk driver. I had broken legs. I had skin damage, nerve damage,

and I did not know if I'd walk again. This is tough for anybody, but especially for a teenager. But I had my sister, I had my older sister. She was there for me. Now here's the thing. I am one of 13.

Here's the thing about being one of 13. You always have somebody that's there for you. Now, if this was like a TV show or a movie, I would have woken up in a hospital with my parents by my side. But that's also the thing about being one of so many siblings, especially younger ones. My parents are always juggling more. multiple emotional events.

But my sister, my sister, she came to my rescue so fast. My sister, she's a natural nurturer. She's also the shortest of us all, so she has an extra desire to feel useful. This really worked in my favor because immediately, my sister showed up to that hospital. She took care of me. She made sure that the nurses and doctors didn't neglect me.

She fed me, she cleaned me. I mean, she literally wiped my ass, you guys. She was the reason that my mom was able to stay at home with my younger siblings. She was the reason why my father didn't have to miss too much work. During that time in my life, my sister, she wasn't just my sister. She was my guardian. She was my protector. She was my advocate.

She was my friend. She was my audience when I would wake up out of her. my morphine comas with a spirited opinion. During that time, I also had a friend come visit me. He would come by most days, let's call this friend M. And this is something that I never told anyone, but I had the biggest crush on M. He was funny, he was jovial, he was cute, he smelled good, he was a little bit older in me. He always knew stuff about stuff. I was always when he came around, I was completely

charmed. Like, really smitten. It's quite embarrassing, actually. But that was a really tough time for me, and he always gave me something to look forward to. Now, he didn't see me the same way. He saw me as a friend, at best, a younger sister. But in my mind, I was going to get a little bit older and then confess to him, like, I've had this crush on you, and he was going to tell me he loved me all along, and then we were going to ride off in the sunset and live happily ever after. You guys have seen clueless. He was the poor rudd to my share. Also, I figured at this point he's seen me at my worst, right? It only is uphill from here. So I'm in a hospital for about four weeks at this point.

I'm doing better. I'm no longer in ICU, but I still can't walk, and I still don't know if I'll ever be able to walk. But I'm really excited today, because I know the M is coming by, and I finally look better. I finally look cute.

Earlier that day, the nurse had finally cleaned the blood out of my scalp and gave me new braids. It wasn't glamorous, but I still felt like new hair, who is. Em walks in the room and to my surprise, he has two women with him. And I was like, new girls, who that? I wanted to pull him to the side and be like, Harpo, who these women?

Nine of y'all seen color purple? Okay. I checked them out, you know, they were polite, they were nice, they were beautiful. They were like that effortless beautiful that you take for granted. When you're like 22 years old, you know, M said that he was having car trouble and that they gave him a ride to the hospital that day. But I looked at them. They were just like me. They were charmed. If he would have said that he needed to get to China, they would have figured out a way across the Indian Ocean. I really didn't want them to be there. I wanted him all to myself. But what was I going to do? Get up and walk out.

So I just invited them in and I let the M show begin. I noticed that the more comfortable everybody got, the more uncomfortable my sister got. And I was like, oh, we got some sister telepathy happening. She's being slightly rude, you know, because she knows I don't want them around my man. I'm thinking that we had silently decided to play good cop, bad cop in service of my happily ever after, right?

Then I noticed it got a little bit more awkward, and I was like, oh, wait, maybe she really is mad. So after a while, you know, M and his ride leaves, and I asked my sister, I was like, is everything okay? Like, did mom and dad call you, or did the doctor say something? Like, you seem really bothered. And she told me that her and M had been seeing each other for the past few weeks. First of all, a few is three.

I only been in a hospital for four. I, my sister, and my crush, I was crushed. Also, this whole time I thought she was being rude for me. She was being rude for herself. She tells me that one day when I was in surgery, he came and he brought her lunch. And since then, he had been coming by and supporting her whenever I was going through something major at the hospital. He was the one that sat with her that comforted her. And the night before, they were able to have a date outside of the hospital.

And one thing led to another, and they did it. I really, you guys, first of all, I felt betrayed. I wanted to drop down to my knees and scream, nah! Because here's the other thing about being one of so many siblings. I have had to share everything. I share my room, I share my clothing, I share my food, and now I got to share my crush.

I was devastated. But I just listened. I listened. I kept my face surprisingly still. I let my sister talk it out. At the time, I was able to tap into her POV. I thought, this must have been tough for her. She's a young girl who saw her sister,

her younger sister, moments after she'd been hit by a truck. and she was given the task by my parents to make sure that I made out of it okay. She should be seeing the world not sitting here taking care of me. And then this charming guy came around and made it seem like it was about her for brief moments. In that moment, as much as we were both brokenhearted, I decided to allow her broken heart to live. I think it was my way of saying thank you. I mean, she did wipe my ass.

I recovered eventually, and thankfully I can walk. But I do sometimes think back to that time when I was 17 years old. At that time, I was juggling so many new emotions. I was scared. I was fragile. I was confused, but I was also tasked with protecting my sister's heart. That was Zandab Johnson, a stand-up comedian, actor, and writer from New York City, best known for playing Alicia on the Amazon series upload and her debut special, Hijab's Off.

She says she never did tell her sister about her crush on M, though she wouldn't be surprised if it made its way through the 12-sibling grapevine at some point. She'll certainly hear about it now. And what does Zaynab won on her tombstone? She was everyone's, quote, friend in their head. Next up, we have Jillian Sousley, who told this at a story slam in the Twin Cities. Here's Jillian.

I am at my grandfather's memorial service, and I'm sitting on a bench talking with my grandma. And we're far enough away from the door that we don't get attention, but close enough that she can, see as people are coming in. And when my aunt Sue Ann comes in the door, she goes, you know, Sue's mad

at me. She doesn't like that your grandfather left everything to me. And she was his second wife, but they'd been married for like 50 years. So of course, like everything would go to grandma. And she continues on and says, Sue says that because he was her father,

half should go to her, but she's not getting anything. At least not yet. And she gets up and she goes to start greeting people at the door, but suddenly she turns back to me and she goes, oh, good, the rest of your grandfather arrived. And that was a statement that confused me, considering we were at his memorial service.

So she says, the locket's around your cousin's neck, they contain parts of your grandfather. I wonder which parts of them they got. Oh, it'd be so dark in there all day if they had one of his eyeballs. And then she leans in and whispers, but what if they got one of his testicles? So she walks away and my mom walks up and I ask her,

do we know about the drama with Sue Ann and the parts of Grandpa? And she nods. And she says, you know, if one of them got a finger, I hope it was Suan and that it was the middle one. So my grandpa's funeral memorial service is at this church they've gone to for 25 years. It's amazing to see all the people there, like well over 100 celebrating his life. He lived to be 95 years old, was a World War II vet. So he was given a 21-gun salute, the flag-folding ceremony, the presentation to my grandma,

and it was really unexpected that it was part of the service, and I was moved when they sounded taps for my grandpa that one last time. And after he was beautifully celebrated, I thought the day was done. We were going home, finding a place on the mantle for his urn, but we weren't. My grandma said she wanted to go plant flowers at his parents' grave. So my mom's husband, my siblings, grandma, mom and I, we get into a car and we drive to the cemetery. And when we arrive, she pulls out a shovel and hands it to my brother. She gives a potted plant to my mother and takes my grandpa's ashes. And we walk to the plot and when we get there, she points down to the ground and goes,

Jordan, start digging. That's where we're going to bury your grandfather. And all of us sort of stop. And my mom goes, what are we going to do, mother? And shaking her head, she's like, well, the seminary. The cemetery wanted $7,500 to bury in here. And I thought, heck, we can do it for free. Jordan, right on top of his mother.

Make sure you get the grass nice. I don't want anyone to know. Now, I don't know if any of you have been part of an illegal burial before, but this is my first time, so I'm like looking around for cameras. I mean, I know this is what grandma wants. Presumably she's talked to grandpa about it,

but still, we're breaking up. breaking the law. We're burying him in someone else's grave, but my brother's just like digging away. And so, wearing close, standing in like, nothing to see here type of poses. But, you know, soon enough, the hole is dug. My grandpa's ashes are inside the hole, and we all take some dirt, and we sprinkle it on top, and then we hold hands, and my sister says a prayer. And I start crying because this, this felt final. This was his funeral. And as my brother is placing, dirt on top. My grandma tells him to make sure he's nice and snug because she doesn't want him getting cold. And my brother goes, well, what about the plant? And grandma goes, oh, that was just

decoy. I'm planting that in my backyard. So my grandma lives in northern Indiana. I call her multiple times throughout the week. You know, I like to connect with her, pass his time through traffic. And so about six months later, she's telling me about a cookie recipe. And then she just subtly drops, oh, I moved her grandfather. And I was like, you moved my how did you move him? Where did you move him? And she says, well, the army called and said that since he was a World War II vet,

he could be in our local mausoleum. And I thought, yeah, you'd like that. So my 78-year-old grandmother and her 82-year-old sister got another decoy plant and went and dug my grandpa back up. So I'm telling her that I'm going to tell this story at the moth and she goes, do you want to know something

no one else knows? I do. And she goes, well, talking like she just picked him up in a Notre Dame game, not dug his ashes up. Well, he was a little soggy when we got him out of the ground. And I didn't want the army people to know that I had already buried him. So I put him out on a couple of cookie sheets to dry him out. Herzs of your grandfather flew into the cornfield behind the house. But I don't think he'd mind. You know how he liked looking at that cornfield? And I helped but laughing because my grandpa was 23 years older than my grandma. But he lived to be so old and vibrant through those 95 years

because I always thought she kept him moving in life. And so really, why would his death be any different? Thank you. Jillian Sousley was born in South Bend, Indiana, and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. When not illegally burying family remains, she listens to audiobooks out on the deck, enjoys everything Minnesota has to offer and plays with her dog, Adelaide. Jillian's grandma, also known as my personal hero after hearing this story, was over the moon when Gillian called to ask if she'd be okay with it airing,

and also assured her that there were no more secret relocations to share. The words Jillian wants on her tombstone? Final resting place. Do not move. In a moment, a moment, a story. story of finding closure after a loved one goes missing. When the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. My name's PJ Vote, and our podcast search engine recently got this question from a listener.

His dad, a retired pharmacist, had been sending hundreds of thousands of dollars to India, either because he was funding a Bollywood movie with a director he met on the internet, or because he was being scammed. What exactly had his father really gotten himself into? Where was all this cash really going? On our episode, we go all the way to India to investigate what's really going on. Check out the podcast search engine. The episode is called Bollywood Dreams.

This is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Chloe Salmon. In this episode, we're listening to stories of how we engage with mortality, both our own and that of our loved ones. Our final story is told by Aline O'Brien, who shared it in Boston, where we were presented by the Wilbur Theater and Public Radio Station, GBAH. Here's Eileen, live at the Moff. In 2014, I was watching a true crime show about the discovery of seven unidentified women in Arizona

who'd been murdered by a serial killer. Listening, I felt compelled to Google missing persons and unidentified remains, which I know sounds weird, but I've honestly, done that a million times before. This time, though, a website came up that I had never seen. It was called Name Us. N-A-M-U-S.

Name us.gov. A database created in 2005 to centralize information and DNA on missing persons and unidentified remains. When I opened the site, I got this rush of energy.

And in that moment, I knew, I mean I just knew that I needed to get my DNA into NAMOS. But let me explain, and it will make sense. My sister, my Gehry, went missing in 1985. She was 30 years old, an addict, and a drifter, so exactly when in 85 was unclear, because she could go weeks without contact. But eventually, her daughter-in-a-court.

her daughter Nicole always got a letter or a call letting us know where she was. It was in the fall of 85 when we realized that no one, not even Nicole, had heard from Migri, in months. And that raised a red flag. A missing person report was filed and a search began, but it's difficult to find a homeless person. And we grew up here in Melrose. Migrate was two years older than me and a lot tougher. She feared nothing. And even when she was afraid, she would never admit it. Me, on the other hand, I feared just about everything. But as kids, we were focused on how to feel safe in a violent, alcoholic home. And I felt safe with Migrii, because she looked up for me. Like, when I was 10, and she taught me how to steal so I could have things I wanted.

Or when I was 11 and she taught me how to escape through the magic of alcohol and drugs. In my world, in our world, this was love. In a home where love could seem absent, we found love. It was unspoken, though. She never said she loved me out loud, but I knew she did. I think it was just too painful for her to feel love out loud. When she was 19, Magarid had a baby, and she stayed clean while she was pregnant because she was happy then. And when her daughter Nicole was born, she was in awe of the love that she felt.

I was only 17, and I tried to help her care for Nicole, but after a while we drifted apart as I went off on my own journey into that magic of alcohol and drugs. When Nicole was five, she was removed from Migrate's custody and placed in the care of our oldest sister. Without her daughter, to anchor her, Migrate spiraled into her addiction, but she kept in touch with Nicole. She never gave up hope of regaining custody. I remember she called me one time from a payphone in New York. She told me she was hitchhiking from Massachusetts to California. her plan was to get sober, start a new life, and come back for Nicole. I told her I was struggling with my own addiction now,

and I was very worried about losing my two boys. Not you too, she said, and she cried. She was so afraid that I was going to end up like her. Saying goodbye, we promised each other. that we would get sober and we would be good mothers. But that would be the last time we ever spoke. And when my Gereet stopped writing to Nicole, I just knew she must be dead.

I often thought I felt her presence like she was watching over me, reminding me of that promise we'd made to get sober. And I wanted to get sober, but I couldn't do it, until this one day, when I came to on my living room floor, I don't know how long I'd been unconscious. I had no idea where my two boys were.

My body was shaking violently. I was desperate. And I begged God, please. I can't live like this anymore. And then I thought I heard Marguerite's voice. I held my breath so I could hear her better. You're all done, I mean, I heard her say. And that was the day that I got sober, and I've been sober ever since.

Thank you so much. The search for my greed ended with no resolve, but Nicole never stopped looking for her mother. We all wanted to find her, but we didn't know how. I was haunted by thoughts of her dying, terrified, and alone. And in my heart, I just knew that she needed her daughter to know that she had not just forgotten about her. And I wanted to do that for her. So when I found NamUs that night in 2014, I inquired about me and Nicole, who was now 40, submitting our DNA and was told, we need to work with law enforcement. I called a friend of mine who was then chief of police in Salem and told him my story.

He assigned a reluctant and skeptical detective to work with us, who eventually did get our DNA into name us. It was one evening, several months later, when two police officers knocked on my door, are you Eileen O'Brien? Yes. Eileen, did you submit your DNA to name us? Yes, my heart was pounding. There's been a match to what Jane Doe, he said.

And suddenly I just felt like I was floating, like I left my body. And I could see he was still talking, but I couldn't hear him anymore. All I could hear was there's been a match to a Jane Doe echoing in my head. Ms. O'Brien, he was shouting. Are you okay? It's my sister, I told him. She's been missing for 30 years.

He handed me a slip of paper. This is a number for a detective in California. He's waiting for your call. So I pulled myself together. and I called Detective Bob Hunter, who told me that on August 3rd, 1985, a young woman was struck and killed by a truck when trying to cross a busy road. He was a new officer in Fontana, California, and was called to the scene of the accident. He said he was with Maguire when she died. She had no ID and unable to identify her.

they labeled her Jane Doe number 1385 and she was buried in the county's Doe Cemetery. I never forgot about her, he told me. I knew that someone somewhere had to be missing her. He'd even taken her earrings from her belongings and placed them in a case file and he still had them. I spent that night imagining Maguire's last moments. wondering, had she meant to step in front of that truck, or was it an accident? It was a long and

sleepless night. I was ecstatic, but at the same time my grief was just so heavy I could barely lift my head. And I was at Nicole's door early the next morning, but before I could even speak, she said, I know why you're here. You found my mother, didn't you? I did, I said, and we held on to each other as a tsunami of emotions washed over us. Then as I shared Detective Hunter's story, I could feel Nicole's relief.

It was almost as deep as her grief. I want to bring her home, told me, I want to bury her with Grandma. And I agreed, we could not leave her there. In June of 2015, Nicole and I flew to California to pick up Maggi Reitz remains. At the funeral home, we were led around back to the Doe Cemetery. It was a dirt lot, surrounded by a chain-link fence. The ground was barren, cracked, and dry. Off to the right was an orange, an orange cone marking where she'd been buried nameless and alone. Inside the funeral home, we were led to a viewing room where I heard beautiful music and saw a small table with the urn

Nicole had chosen for her mother's ashes. Mommy, I heard Nicole say she ran towards that table. And then everything she needed to say for 30 years just came pouring out of her with so much love. I stood a few feet in back of her watching, overwhelmed with sadness and gratitude, but mostly I felt reconciled to that longing I'd held to reunite myriad with her daughter and just to be for her what she had been for me, a light shining into the darkness and an undeniable source of love. Sorry. We buried my mother. with my parents on a beautiful summer day. Approaching the grave, the sun highlighted her name on the stone.

Marguerite Ellen O'Brien. I'm sorry. Standing side by side, Nicole and I breathed in every aspect of these final moments. The rustling of the trees in the warm breeze. The thoughtfully placed colorful bursts of flowers in the peaceful beauty of the grounds. I recalled the Doe Cemetery where she'd been alone for so long, and finally I felt at peace.

With her mother's earrings in her pocket, Nicole held her mother's remains close to her body. Then, inhaling deeply, she knelt down and she gently placed that urn into the grave. After a long silence, I slipped my hand into hers and we walked away. Thank you. That was Eileen O'Brien.

And what would she like written on her tombstone? Never say never. This was such a sweeping grand story that I wanted to sit down with Eileen to hear a bit more about some of the details. We connected over Zoom. I really did feel after I told the story and the reaction, when people clapped all of us, sudden or laughed or went silent, I felt like they were hearing it. And the feedback was, because it wasn't looking for a good job kind of a thing. There was an emotional human connection in so many people that experience, especially are impacted by addiction and what that does

to a family and the trajectory of so many that can't climb up out of it. There were so many that came up to me with stories of loss, you know, where they didn't get the same closure or their person died right there in front of them. And, you know, I was grateful to have made that connection with them, like, because for me, it was about the love. Like, it's so hard to tell people you still love that person because they, you know, think that you shouldn't because they're so hard. They make it hard to love them, you know.

So unconditional love becomes like something you keep to yourself, you know, and let everybody say all the nasty things they want to say. So I love too that a lot of that fell away with my own family when the whole story was said and done because some were still holding on to. she was nothing but trouble, you know. And then it spiked memories of it wasn't always like that. That was Eileen O'Brien. The night she told the story in Boston was what would have been Marguerite's 71st birthday.

When the show's host heard, she asked if it would be okay to share with the audience, which led to 1,000 people singing happy birthday to Marguerite. Marguerite's daughter Nicole, who was in the audience that night, said it was the first time she'd ever sung her mother, happy birthday. That's it for this episode. Thank you to our storytellers for sharing with us and to you for listening. And I'll leave you with the same question that was asked and answered throughout this episode. What do you want written on your tombstone? As for The Moth, ours would probably say, we hope you'll join us next time.

This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Chloe Salmon, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, Associate Producer Emily Couch. The Moth's leadership team includes Gina Duncan, Christina Norman, Marina Clucce, Sarah Austin Janice, Jennifer Hickson, Jordan Cardinale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Patricia Ureña. Moss stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift, other music in this hour from Echo Mandolin Ensemble, Epidemic Sound, and Blue Dot Sessions. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including executive producer Leah Reese Dennis.

For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, which we always hope you'll do, and to learn all about the moth, go to our website, the moth.org.