I watched on the sideline as a child's life unfolded and ended as I viewed.
His story begins as a six or seven year old, hyper and misunderstood as he dealt with the emotions of losing his home and his dad to an affair. Next, came a working mother and having to be added to an after school program where he got molested by another boy in the bathroom. He began to have terrible nightmares, had to sleep with the lights on and his mother became his only source of refuge. Around nine, his mother, stressed to the max, dies of a brain aneurysm. I watched him lay on the floor pretending to be asleep because it was more than he could handle. His world, again, shattered. He now is forced to live with Dad and have another kind of life. New town, new life, new friends...nothing familiar.
I lost touch with him for awhile, but heard he tried to make the most of it.
The end came abruptly as I attended his funeral. His beautiful, blue eyes and stunning appearance, only now in pictures flashing on the screen. His life had become more than he could handle, so he ended it.
His story is another reason I stay in the fight to be the voice of children like him. Children who cannot speak for themselves, but need a voice.