Loved ones of slain Winona woman hope to help other victims of domestic violence

Three years ago, Lauren DeBois wouldn’t have known where to turn had someone come to her for help escaping a violent relationship.

Then Madeline Kingsbury was murdered by the father of her children in their Winona home in March 2023. DeBois, Kingsbury’s longtime friend, decided she needed to learn “everything there was to know” about how this could have happened to someone she cared so much for.

Hearing the devastating details about Kingsbury’s relationship that came out during her killer’s trial last fall, she and others who cared for Kingsbury saw in hindsight the red flags they could have noticed to help her escape.

“You realize just how many other people also need help to figure out getting out,” DeBois said. “It’s not well talked about.”

To honor Kingsbury’s life, DeBois and other friends and relatives are on a mission to save people from such violence. They’ve started a foundation in her name, seeking to become advocates for those in need.

Their activism has been a balm for the Winona area, where 2,000 people turned out to search for Kingsbury in the months between her disappearance and the discovery of her remains in a rural culvert. Hundreds of Winona residents kept blue lights on their porches in Kingsbury’s honor for months after.

Since then, people and businesses have donated thousands of dollars to the Madeline Kingsbury Foundation, including more than $6,000 to cover the foundation’s startup costs.

Hultgren said she began planning the foundation with Kingsbury’s friends during Adam Fravel’s trial, in part because it gave her something to focus on while coping with her daughter’s death.

They’ve put together a crew of seven volunteers so far as administrators and event coordinators.

Volunteers want to help victims by publicizing support for those in possibly dangerous domestic situations. They are reaching out to other shelters and nonprofits addressing abuse to educate themselves and better serve people who might be at risk.

Some want to help train law enforcement to identify signs of domestic abuse, while others hope to go into schools to teach about healthy vs. unhealthy relationships. Volunteers handed out pamphlets at Winona State University’s home football games this fall with information about help available to those in abusive relationships.

“A good way to go is really getting out into the community during events, no matter what event it is,” said Abbie Perlinger, a foundation volunteer who never knew Kingsbury but said she felt inspired to join the search for her.

Violence Free Minnesota, a statewide coalition of shelters and advocacy groups, has charted the people killed by domestic violence for more than 30 years. Since 1989, at least 17 people in Minnesota have died each year, with a record 40 deaths in 2023, the nonprofit said.

Friends hadn’t realized how much Kingsbury was hurting until after she died, sharing stories Kingsbury told first among themselves and then in court, of bruises, marks on her neck or violence she’d told them about or things they’d witnessed.

As DeBois puts it, domestic violence in real life isn’t like the TV show “CSI”: Leaving doesn’t just happen, and victims can’t magically move on.

“I’ve helped individuals just on my own time navigate some of this,” Perlinger said. “They’re normally afraid to go to the police or talk to a lawyer … to help them in these situations because they’re really scared.”

Volunteers hope to create lasting resources in southeastern Minnesota, from a scholarship program for victims looking to improve their lives to a fund that would offer the first month’s rent or a security deposit for victims trying to escape abuse — a crucial, dangerous time, according to advocates.

If all goes well, Hultgren one day hopes to open Maddi’s Place, a shelter in southeastern Minnesota that could offer temporary housing for abuse victims.

For Kingsbury’s friends and family, it’s still hard to accept that she’s gone. DeBois gets knots in her stomach whenever her friend is the subject of another documentary or podcast, often more focused on the end of her life than the vibrant, unfailingly positive person DeBois remembers.

Sometimes, DeBois said, she wakes up thinking Maddi is still alive, still going to text her back, still going to offer to come over with a bag of peanut M&Ms and hang out.

Those are the days when it’s tough to get out of bed.

“It’s so overwhelming,” she said. “It’s kind of the moments where you least expect it that really hit the hardest.”