Patsy Nonemaker embarked from her residence in Shepherdsville, Kentucky, around 4:00 pm on Friday, December 31, 1999, with a heavy heart. The 55-year-old had battled deep-seated melancholy and psychological turmoil for an extended period, and the year 1999 had been especially arduous. In September, her beloved canine companion vanished, followed by the passing of her father on December 19th. In the wake of her father's demise, her physician adjusted her medication regimen, leaving her still acclimating to the change when she ventured out into the New Year's Eve dusk, disappearing without a trace.
Throughout that Friday afternoon, Patsy had shared precious moments with her husband of 36 years, Paul Nonemaker. Several hours after their midday repast, Paul set out on errands, only to return at 6:00 pm to an unexpected absence: his wife was nowhere to be found, though her car sat in the driveway and her purse rested in the master bedroom.
Given Patsy's fragile mental state, Paul felt immediate concern. Presuming she had set out on foot, he meticulously canvassed the neighborhood, fruitlessly searching for any sign of her presence. Recollections from neighbors hinted at brief encounters with Patsy, who had inquired about her missing pet before quietly slipping away. Observers last caught sight of her heading towards Highway 44 shortly after 4:00 pm.
The ongoing absence of Patsy's beloved dog spurred repeated searches in the vicinity. Yet, propelled perhaps by her mental fragility, Patsy may have resolved to resume her search. Paul keenly felt her anguish over the loss of her canine companion, remarking, "She was already deeply despondent, and that dog provided solace in my absence."
As night descended and temperatures plummeted, Paul's apprehension for Patsy's safety mounted. Though she had previously wandered as far as Michigan, she had always been equipped with essentials. This time, however, she had left with only the clothes on her back, leaving behind her wallet, keys, identification, and other belongings.
Paul reported his wife's disappearance to the Bullitt County Sheriff's Department, but encountered a disheartening response. Despite Patsy's mental health struggles, authorities cited her autonomy as an adult, despite her illness. Detective Charles Mann, while sympathetic, admitted to limited options, saying, "My heart goes out to Paul; however, our hands are tied."
As a flight training supervisor at United Parcel Service, Paul rallied friends and colleagues to aid in the search. The International Pilots Association in Louisville joined the effort, disseminating information about Patsy's disappearance and prominently featuring her case on their platform.
Together with the International Pilots Association, Paul organized an extensive ground search for Patsy, scouring the neighborhood and likely routes she might have taken. Yet, despite their efforts, no trace of her was found.
Days turned into weeks without any word from Patsy, deepening the family's worry. Paul suspected foul play, remarking, "I believe someone offered her a ride. She typically contacts me within days of leaving, but it's been months, and Patsy is still missing."
As news of Patsy's disappearance spread, sporadic tips trickled in, including a possible sighting at a gas station along Highway 44. Witnesses recalled her inquiry about her dog but could provide no further information.
Paul's attempts to garner media attention for his wife's case were met with indifference, despite appeals to programs such as America's Most Wanted, Dateline, and 20/20.
Frustrated by the lack of progress, Paul turned to the FBI for assistance, though tangible evidence of her whereabouts remained elusive.
Baffled by the lack of urgency regarding adult disappearances, Paul lamented, "Most jurisdictions prioritize missing children. My efforts often lead to dead ends, leaving me grieving her absence."
Flyers bearing Patsy's image were distributed nationwide, yet sightings yielded no leads. Paul persisted in his search, traveling far and wide, but with no success.
As the anniversary of Patsy's disappearance approached, her family gathered to honor her memory, resigned to the grim reality of her absence.
Paul remained convinced that Patsy would have reached out if she could, saying, "She always let us know if she was going to be late. She wouldn't hide from us."
Timothy Nonemaker, Patsy's son, doubted that his mother would vanish voluntarily, given her history of staying in touch. Detective Mann assured the family that every lead had been pursued exhaustively, yet no breakthroughs had emerged.
The family criticized law enforcement's handling of the case, suggesting that prompt action might have made a difference. The Kentucky State Police Missing Persons Unit eventually offered assistance, but by then, hope was dwindling.
With no new information, Patsy's loved ones grappled with ongoing uncertainty, longing for closure. Paul expressed his anguish, saying, "It's hard not knowing what happened to her. This past year has been the hardest of my life, and I miss her terribly."
Two decades later, Patsy's disappearance remains shrouded in mystery, with theories ranging from accident to foul play. The search for answers continues, fueled by a fervent hope that someone will come forward with the information needed to bring closure.
Patsy Ruth Nonemaker, a woman of 55 years, left her home in Shepherdsville, Kentucky, on New Year's Eve of 1999, never to return. Afflicted by depression and mental illness, her absence has left a void that her family yearns to fill. Descriptions of her appearance and plea for information have been circulated widely, but her whereabouts remain unknown. If you have any information about Patsy, please contact the Bullitt County Sheriff's Department at 502–543–2514.
0 Comments