Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Like speaking Italian ...

I had a very dear godfather, who was Italian and liked to pepper his verbosity with his native language ... and - altho I was around him all of my life - I couldn't converse in Italian.

I felt the same way as a single mother in my very early twenties - me! the prize babysitter of the development! the one with so many hopes and dreams and ideas for my baby girl!

That's why Michelle Lodzinski's story of what happened with her son Timothy Wiltsey, when she took him to a carnival, always, always resonated with me ... you're young, and you're life hasn't turned out the way you expected, and you're just trying to do the very best job of parenting that you can ... and then something goes horribly wrong.  Your kid goes missing.  And the police come down on you like something out of a bad movie, and twist your words, and confuse you - I understood that part, too, because - altho I never had the unimaginable heartbreak of turning around and your kid is suddenly gone - I did have my own encounter with the police where they turned and twisted me like I was the criminal, instead of the good citizen putting puzzle pieces together.

You grow-up.  You get married again.  You move.  In Michelle's situation, you have two other boys... and by the way, they've never gone missing.  Need I point that obvious statement out - like the other obvious statement: what about that bodybuilder bruiser boyfriend she had at that time in her life, when she was petite and scared and felt like he could be the Boaz she hadn't found out in the Midwest, with Timothy's father ...

They just found her guilty.


All I can do is pray for her - pray for her family - pray for her two boys, Daniel and Benjamin - and pray, pray, PRAY! that someone submits her case to the Innocence Project.

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