Untitled

I know that the title of this is “untitled” and it will remain that way.  Do you remember when I told you that my base was overly social?  Well, they are and that hasn’t changed.  I get invited to all kinds of things, all the time.  Well in the last few weeks, I’ve attended a walkathon for Domestic Violence, I’ve helped sort clothing and toiletries for the same group and the homeless, and then I was invited to help raise funds for a memorial for a 19 month old that was killed.  Both his mother and what I can only assume is her boyfriend were charged in his death.

Yes, the whole situation is deplorable.. hence the fact that it’s untitled.  I can’t come up with words for this besides “Murder” and I don’t know how that would go over in your blogger dashboards and RSS feeds.

I feel bad because I can’t actually do anything about this situation.  There is a special part of me that shuts down when something like this happens.  I can’t imagine buying a shirt or wearing one with this little boy’s name on it.  I’ve deleted the event, I’ve removed the group that kept e-mailing me.  But, I didn’t do it because I have no compassion.  As a matter of fact, I have too much compassion.  I lack any sympathy for someone who shakes the life out of a defenseless child.  I have absolutely no forgiveness for that act.  I know it’s cold, I know it’s dark, but I seriously think that any sentence short of death is not fitting for this situation.  I know that situations are different as is everyone’s story.

What really gets me is that he is survived by family all over the area… all they had to do was call someone and ask for help.

This leads into the real story that I was going for…  I can’t handle this story of a child I’ve never met.  For me, it’s easier to ignore the situation because I don’t know how to deal with it.

On March 16, 2007 I saw a facebook status change that will change my life forever.  It said, “RIP Kandon Allen Riley”.  I called one of my best friends and she was just bawling.  That baby was her soon-to-be stepson.  Her now husband and her had been together since high school thanks to me.  They have had their rough patches and during one of their downs, he dated someone else and she ended up pregnant.  Kandon was 11 months old when he spilled his juice and cried.  He was 11 months old when his mother’s boyfriend (who had his own child) shook him so hard that he was killed in hours.  He was 11 months old when he was laid to rest.  The murderer lied to police, acted like nothing happened, told the EMT’s and doctors false stories.  Had he told the truth, Kandon would have received the proper medical treatment immediately and might still be alive today.  In all reality, he still probably wouldn’t have made it… his injuries were too severe but the hope was there.  I don’t know the mom, but I can only imagine the pain she went through.  I know the father and I know what he went through.  I’d never had the pleasure of meeting this little boy but I watched him being laid to rest.  I watched the families divided, I watched the mourners stare at me for being there because I’d been gone for so long.  I saw that little boy in a tiny casket dressed in his cubs outfit, looking like he was sleeping.  I looked into his father’s eyes and we both lost it.  I watched that boy lowered into the ground and dirt laid upon his casket by his father.  I watched the blue balloons released and disappear into the sky.  I watched the trial and the bullshit erupt into chaos.  That was the hardest funeral I have ever been to and I fear will continue to be the hardest I will have ever dealt with.

I sincerely hope that none of you ever have to deal with this situation both on a personal level or a bystander level.  It Minot, ND Conrad Ayala was killed on Valentine’s Day and on February 17th, a 20 month old was killed in Griffith, IN.  These are just the ones I’ve read in the paper over the last week or so and I’m sure there are many more.

I don’t avoid the situation currently because I have no compassion, I avoid it because I refuse to feel the pain again. 

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