The two police officers who knocked on the front door of the upscale home in Tampa’s Ashley Reserve gated community on the morning of January 29th, 2011, were there for a routine wellness check. A grandmother had called, worried about an email she’d received from her daughter, Julie. Something about being tired of the kids talking back. Something about how it would all be over soon.

No one answered the door. The officers walked around to the back of the house, toward the pool area. That’s where they found her: a woman lying unconscious on the cement, wearing a white bathrobe. She was alive, but barely conscious.

When they asked if they could go inside and check on her children, she said yes. Inside, they made a discovery that would haunt them for the rest of their careers. Sixteen-year-old Kaix Skenker and thirteen-year-old Bo Skenker were both gone. The scene made it immediately clear that this was no accident.

When the officers asked the mother what had happened, Julie Skenker—former military linguist, wife of an army colonel, mother of two honor students—said something that everyone who heard it would never forget. “My daughter is Maui. She calls me names. ”

This is the story of how a woman who had everything—a successful military career, a husband rising through the ranks, two brilliant children with bright futures—became someone unrecognizable, and how a mental illness left inadequately treated turned a mother into a killer.

Julie Powers was born on October 16th, 1960, in Muscatine, Iowa. It was a picture-perfect childhood in a small Midwestern town. Pretty, popular, athletic, she was a star volleyball player at the University of Northern Iowa, a Type A personality who was extremely competitive, the kind of person who always needed to be the best at everything. Her family life was stable, middle-class, supportive.

There was no obvious trauma or dysfunction that would predict what would come later. After graduating with honors in 1982, Julie joined the United States Army. It was an era when women were making significant strides in military service. She was sent to the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, to learn Russian—language, culture, politics, military intelligence applications.

She excelled at the intensive program. In 1987, she was assigned to military intelligence in Munich, Germany, where her job was fascinating and important. She interviewed refugees from the Soviet Union, gathered intelligence, analyzed information. She was good at her work, very good.

Her performance reviews were consistently excellent. It was there, in 1989, that she met Parker Skenker. He was also in military intelligence—career-focused, rising through the ranks, ambitious, dedicated to service. They bonded over their shared work and their shared commitment to the military, and they married on October 10th, 1992, in a military ceremony.

Everything seemed perfect on the surface. But beneath that surface, cracks were already forming. While they were dating, Julie had been diagnosed with depression—major depressive disorder—but she kept it secret from most people. She was ashamed of it.

In military culture, mental illness was seen as weakness. She only told Parker after they were married, and even then, she minimized it, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. Parker convinced her to leave the army in 1994. The military lifestyle was demanding, and they wanted to start a family.

It made sense for one of them to stay home. Julie agreed, though leaving her career meant losing a significant part of her identity. On September 12th, 1994, their daughter Kaix was born in Germany—a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Julie threw herself into motherhood with the same intensity she’d brought to her military career.

On September 25th, 1997, their son Bo was born in Hawaii, where Parker was stationed. After Bo’s birth, Julie suffered from severe, debilitating postpartum depression. She went back on anti-depressants, but the medication didn’t seem to help as much as it should have. The constant military moves made everything worse.

Every time Parker received new orders, the family had to uproot—new cities, new houses, new schools for the kids, no ability to put down roots or build lasting friendships. Julie would make friends, only to lose them with the next relocation. In 2001, Julie suffered a severe episode that could no longer be ignored. She was hospitalized at a National Institute of Health facility, where she was finally diagnosed with the full scope of her condition: bipolar disorder and schizoaffective disorder.

These weren’t just mood disorders. They meant Julie would alternate between periods of manic highs, where she felt invincible, talked rapidly, and couldn’t sleep, and extreme depression, where she couldn’t get out of bed. She’d experienced loss of contact with reality—states of psychosis where she couldn’t distinguish what was real from what was in her mind. For nine months, Julie remained an inpatient at the facility.

It was a long, difficult treatment period. Parker raised the kids with help from his mother and a nanny. The children were young enough that they didn’t fully understand why their mother was gone. By 2005, Julie felt significantly better.

The medication was working. Therapy was helping. She felt more like herself than she had in years—so much better that she made a decision that would prove catastrophic down the line. She stopped taking her medication.

This is tragically common with bipolar disorder. The medication evens out the highs and lows, stabilizes mood, but it also makes people feel flat, emotionless. They miss the highs, the energy, the creativity, the feeling of being invincible. The medication makes them feel like they’re living life in gray instead of color.

So they stop taking the pills, convinced they don’t need them anymore. After relocating to Maryland in 2005, Julie went through six months of intense mania. She was agitated, unable to control her temper over minor things, and began developing delusional beliefs about various situations. Her behavior became increasingly erratic.

In early 2006, Parker had to force her into Walter Reed Hospital for treatment. It was a difficult period for the entire family; the kids were old enough now to understand something was wrong with their mother. That same year, Parker was promoted to colonel—a significant achievement in his career—and the family moved to Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. Surprisingly, this move seemed to help Julie stabilize.

Maybe it was the slower pace. Maybe it was being away from the intense military culture. Whatever the reason, the kids were doing well too, finally able to put down roots and make lasting friends. But in 2008, Parker received new orders.

He was being stationed in Tampa, Florida. Another move, another relocation, another upheaval. This would prove to be their final move together as a family. In Tampa, Julie discovered the work of German author Eckhart Tolle.

His self-help book, *A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose*, gave her a new perspective, a new framework for understanding herself and her place in the world. According to Tolle’s philosophy, our identities aren’t derived from who we are, but from who we want to be. We create our own reality through our consciousness. Julie saw hope in that philosophy.

For the first time in years, she felt like she had agency, like she could reshape her reality through spiritual practice and mindfulness. But Julie took something else from Tolle’s writings, something deeply troubling. He claimed that the end of life was merely an illusion, that it was actually a portal toward true happiness—a transition rather than an ending. For someone with Julie’s mental health conditions, this was a dangerous message to internalize.

Mental health experts derided Tolle’s writing as spiritual mumbo jumbo without scientific basis. The psychiatric community believed it should never substitute for evidence-based psychotherapy, especially for someone with Julie’s serious conditions. People with bipolar disorder and schizoaffective disorder need medication and therapy, not philosophical platitudes. But Julie wasn’t interested in what experts thought.

She’d found something that made her feel better, something that gave her a sense of control. She embraced Tolle’s teachings completely. By 2009, Julie had made friends in the Tampa area, joined social groups, and felt well enough to participate in charity events and community activities. She even returned to Iowa for her college reunion, reconnecting with old friends from her volleyball days.

But her friends from college noticed something off about her. She seemed far less bubbly than they remembered—more subdued, distant, like the vibrant Julie they knew had been replaced by someone who just looked like her. The energy that had made her so magnetic in college was gone. Without proper medication and psychotherapy, it was only a matter of time before the issues resurfaced.

Bipolar disorder doesn’t just go away. Schizoaffective disorder doesn’t cure itself with positive thinking. The question was when the symptoms would return, and how severe the consequences would be. On November 6th, 2010, police were called to the Skenker household to investigate allegations of inappropriate discipline.

Kaix had reported her mother after Julie allegedly struck her across the face repeatedly during a confrontation in their car. They’d been returning from cross-country practice when they stopped at a store. Kaix had purchased something and wouldn’t show her mother what it was. Julie became enraged and started striking her daughter in the parking lot.

When police investigated, there were no visible injuries on Kaix—no bruises, no marks, no physical evidence. A legal loophole in Florida meant no charges could be filed. The investigation was closed. Case dismissed.

But this incident shattered the illusion that Julie was doing better. Kaix was a smart, perceptive teenager. She knew her mother was getting worse. She’d been applying to boarding schools for the following year, hoping to get accepted somewhere far away.

She didn’t want to be at home anymore. She needed distance. She needed to feel safe. Friends of Kaix had started inviting her to stay overnight more frequently, and their parents noticed the stress she was under.

Both Skenker children were considered star students by everyone who knew them—excellent grades, good behavior, star athletes. Kaix excelled at cross-country running. Bo was a standout soccer player. Teachers loved them.

Coaches praised them. They were kids with bright futures ahead of them, doing everything right despite the difficult home situation. But Julie’s future was only getting worse. Two days after police questioned her about the incident with Kaix, on November 8th, 2010, Julie was in a car accident.

It was her fault. She was driving under the influence of alcohol and prescription substances. After surgery earlier that year for a medical condition, Julie had been prescribed OxyContin for pain relief. Like millions of Americans who were prescribed this highly addictive opioid, she soon became dependent on it, needing it just to feel normal.

On top of that, she’d begun drinking heavily throughout the day—wine, vodka, whatever was available. Parker was aware of her substance abuse issues. He’d confronted her about it multiple times. He couldn’t force her into rehab against her will—she was an adult—but he could try to set boundaries.

He’d forbidden her from getting behind the wheel with the kids in the car, made it clear she was not to drive them anywhere. She didn’t listen. She did it anyway. The collision injured both herself and another driver.

Julie was required to enter a 21-day substance treatment program. She completed it and got her certificate, but when she came out, her mental illness symptoms hadn’t gotten better. If anything, they were worse. The substance abuse treatment had addressed the addiction, but not the underlying psychiatric conditions.

She cut off all contact with friends and family members, stopped answering phone calls, stopped responding to messages. She would spend as many as twenty hours a day in bed, curtains drawn, room dark. When she was awake, she remained chronically exhausted. Despite all this, by Christmas the household seemed happy again on the surface.

Even social workers agreed when they carried out a follow-up visit after the November incident. They interviewed the children, checked in on Julie. Their findings: the children seemed happy and well adjusted. Julie appeared to be in a better place.

Case closed. Just weeks later, Julie would make her plans and write about the massacre in her diary. What seemed like a new dawn ended up being only the calm before the storm. On January 10th, 2011, Parker received news that he was to be deployed to the Middle East immediately—for just ten days, a routine deployment.

Concerned about leaving his wife alone with the kids, he discussed with Julie the idea of asking for a delay. But Julie insisted she would be fine. She said she was doing better, said she could handle it. Parker’s family didn’t agree.

After he was shipped out, he received an email from several relatives arguing that by leaving Julie behind at such a critical time, he was risking letting her slip again. They were deeply worried. Parker took great offense. In his email response, he made his feelings clear by stating that none of them understood the difficulties of being married to a woman who was so broken.

It wasn’t meant to be a cruel comment about his wife—he was defending her, defending his decision—but the word choice was unfortunate, easily taken the wrong way. When Julie found out an email had been sent and asked to see it, her brother refused to forward it, refused to show her what Parker had written. That only made Julie start worrying about what could have possibly been in that email. Was her husband unhappy in their marriage?

Had he finally gotten tired of her and her issues? Was this a sign he would soon be asking for a separation? These paranoid thoughts consumed her, putting tremendous stress on her relationship with her kids. She started seeing their normal teenage behavior as disrespect, as attacks on her.

Around this time, she wrote in her journal that they were being disrespectful toward her and that she was going to have to take care of it. On January 22nd, 2011, Julie traveled to a store to make a purchase. She claimed it was for home defense—there had been home invasion incidents in the area. Due to state regulations, the purchase would be delayed by three days for a background check.

Disappointed, she returned home and left a chilling note in her diary: “The massacre will have to be delayed. ”

At this point, Julie had made the decision to end her children’s lives, then take her own. The plan was formed. All that remained was carrying it out.

Why had she decided this? One suggestion from mental health experts who later reviewed the case: Julie was worried that Kaix and Bo would inherit her mental illness. Rather than have them spend their lives suffering like she had, she felt the best thing was to save them from that fate—to release them before they could experience the pain she’d endured. This is called altruistic filicide: a parent taking a child’s life in order to save them from something—a life of poverty, abuse, or, in this case, inherited illness.

It’s a delusion, a tragic misunderstanding of mercy. Even a phone call from Parker wouldn’t change her mind. When he spoke to her and asked if everything was okay at home, she said it was fine, everything was under control. When he informed her he’d be returning home soon, she seemed happy about the news—despite already knowing that by the time he returned, her plan would already be carried out.

By now, Julie had completed her purchase following a successful background check. Despite her extensive history of mental illness and multiple hospitalizations, the system had failed to flag her properly. On January 27th, 2011, she wrote out detailed notes on how she would carry out her plan. She’d wait until the following day.

Everything was ready. On January 28th, 2011, Julie started the morning by getting up early. What unfolded over the next several hours would shock everyone who knew the family. The investigation would later reveal that Julie had carried out the plan she’d written about in her journal.

When investigators pieced together the timeline, they discovered what had occurred that morning. Both children were gone. Julie had taken their lives. After it was done, Julie covered each of her children, then sat down at her computer and composed an email to her husband: “Get home soon.

We’re waiting for you. ” Was this taunting punishment for leaving? Or had she lost her grip on reality? The truth is hard to tell.

The email she sent to her mother and siblings was equally disturbing. Julie stated she was tired of the kids talking back. She made no mention of what had happened, showed no remorse, and said it would all be over soon. Before her family could read the message, she ventured to the backyard, sat by the pool, and wrote out her reasons in detail.

What she wrote contradicted her later claim about worrying over inherited illness. She stated she did this because they were too mouthy, too disrespectful. It was the same thing she’d tell investigators. Getting consistent reasoning would prove impossible.

Her statements showed she was detached from reality—something lawyers would later use to argue she wasn’t fully accountable. But Julie’s plan that evening was to pass away. After sending a rambling text to a friend, she consumed too many prescription pills. It didn’t work as planned.

By the next morning, when Julie’s mother read the email, her daughter was still alive, just unconscious by the pool. When her mother called the house, Julie couldn’t answer. When calls were made to the kids’ phones, they obviously couldn’t pick up. Julie’s mother contacted police immediately.

While Julie awaited trial, Kaix’s classmates memorialized her by planting a willow tree on campus—something the Harry Potter superfan had always wanted. In August 2012, both sides argued they needed time to review files from the Skenker home. Parker filed a wrongful death civil lawsuit to ensure Julie couldn’t access family funds for legal fees. Julie countered by arguing that Parker held culpability—he’d known she was dangerous, and his decision to leave her alone with the kids represented neglect.

That argument didn’t hold merit. The criminal trial began in April 2014. The prosecution didn’t pursue the harshest penalty. The defense suggested she’d harmed the kids out of fears they’d inherit her illnesses, and also suggested there was inappropriate contact happening.

There was zero evidence. It appeared to be delusion or excuse. Despite expert witnesses pushing that bipolar disorder meant she wasn’t in control, the prosecution countered with journal entries proving premeditation. As they argued, Kaix and Bo had been harmed as punishment for Parker.

Evidence was written on the family day planner. Julie had left a note: “B is in the van. Kaix is in her bed. Tried to make her comfortable.

”

After less than two hours of deliberation, the jury found her guilty of two counts of first-degree homicide on May 15th, 2014. One juror stated: “Being mentally ill is not the same as being insane. The fact that Julie kept her plan secret shows she knew what she was doing was wrong. ”

The judge sentenced her to two concurrent life sentences without possibility of parole.

Julie addressed the court: “I apologize. I take responsibility. I was there. I don’t know why.

”

As of 2025, Julie Skenker is 65 years old, incarcerated at Lowell Correctional Institution in Ocala, Florida—the largest women’s prison in the United States—serving two concurrent life sentences without possibility of parole. In 2018, she filed a motion for a new trial, claiming her attorneys made critical mistakes. She argued they left out video evidence showing her condition after apprehension, and that some jurors had slept through parts of the trial. The chances of getting a new trial were not considered very good by legal experts.

In 2022, Skenker was transferred back to Hillsborough County Jail temporarily while pursuing another appeal. That appeal was also denied. Julie maintains she takes responsibility while claiming she doesn’t understand why she did what she did. Parker Skenker has moved forward with his life while keeping the memory of his children alive.

He created the Kaix and Bo Memorial Fund, which promotes arts, athletics, and altruism in youth by giving scholarships to future leaders, artists, and athletes. After the trial, Parker released a statement: “Today’s decision gives my family a great sense of relief. The most important thing is Kaix and Bo, my lovely children, my smart, beautiful, loved, and missed children. Giving them a voice has been my priority throughout this process.

”

Julie Skenker had everything: a successful military career, a husband who supported her through decades of mental illness, two brilliant children with bright futures. But mental illness doesn’t care what you have. When left inadequately treated, it can turn anyone into someone unrecognizable, someone capable of the unthinkable. Could it have been prevented?

Probably yes. There were four distinct missed opportunities. On November 6th, 2010, police were called about discipline allegations after Kaix reported being struck repeatedly. No charges were filed due to a legal loophole.

First missed opportunity. Two days later, Julie caused a collision while intoxicated. She was ordered to enter a substance treatment program—not a psychiatric facility where her mental illness could be properly addressed. Second missed opportunity.

Social workers visited multiple times after the November incident. By Christmas, they determined the children seemed happy and Julie appeared to be better. Just weeks later, Julie made her plans and wrote, “The massacre will have to be delayed. ” Third missed opportunity.

When Julie made her purchase on January 22nd, 2011, she lied on the paperwork about having been committed to a mental institution. Despite her extensive psychiatric history, hospitalizations, diagnosis, and years of treatment, there was no flag in the system. Fourth missed opportunity. Parker knew his wife was struggling, knew she was drinking heavily, knew she was addicted to OxyContin.

He’d forbidden her from driving with the kids. But when he was deployed for just ten days, he left her alone with Kaix and Bo. Family members emailed their concerns. Parker took offense, stating they didn’t understand the difficulties of being married to someone so broken.

Could Parker have refused the deployment or asked for a delay? Had family members stay with Julie and the kids? Yes, he could have. But hindsight is 20/20.

Parker had lived with Julie’s mental illness for nearly two decades. She’d had severe episodes before, been hospitalized before, always came back from the edge. He had no reason to believe this time would be different. Except it was catastrophically different.

Mental illness requires consistent treatment—medication, therapy, support systems, monitoring. Julie had none of these adequately in place when she spiraled. She’d stopped taking her medication years earlier. She’d embraced a self-help author instead of psychiatric care.

She’d isolated herself from friends and family. She was abusing alcohol and prescription substances. All warning signs, all red flags, all opportunities for intervention that were missed or ignored. Mental illness is still stigmatized, especially in military families where strength and stoicism are valued above vulnerability—especially for someone like Julie, who viewed her illness as a weakness to be hidden rather than a condition to be managed.

If Julie had received proper treatment—consistent medication, regular therapy, close monitoring—would Kaix and Bo still be alive? Almost certainly. If the system had flagged Julie’s psychiatric history properly, would this have been prevented? Possibly.

If Parker had recognized the full severity of Julie’s deterioration and refused deployment or arranged for supervision, would his children still be alive? Maybe. But we’ll never know. Two brilliant children with their whole lives ahead of them are gone because their mother’s broken mind convinced her that taking their lives was somehow merciful, somehow necessary.

Kaix Skenker would be 31 years old in 2025. She might have graduated college, become an artist or a writer—she loved Harry Potter and cross-country running. She might have gotten married, had children of her own, lived a full and beautiful life. Bo Skenker would be 28.

He might have gone pro in soccer, followed his father into the military, started a family. He had so much potential, so much life ahead of him. Instead, their lives were cut short by the person who was supposed to protect them above all others—the person whose job it was to keep them safe. The tragedy isn’t just what Julie did.

It’s all the opportunities we had—as a mental health system, as a legal system, as family, as neighbors, as a society—to prevent it. And we failed. We failed Kaix.

We failed Bo, completely and utterly.