Reading back through some of my older posts, it dawned on me that I've never really followed up on most of them. So I thought it might be interesting to see how things have changed, sort of a "where are they now" series. This post will be the first of that series.
Back to the Rivers Edge...
She would be two years old now, but Lailah Hardy never saw her second birthday. Her mother, Lecletia J. Hardy, 26, lost her will to live, lost her mind, abandoned all hope and rationale. She drove her car down to the edge of the Little Blue. She carried her child to the rivers edge, and then offered both of their lives up to the icy water. The demons she may have been wrestling with won the day. It was the ultimate selfish act, a mother taking the life of her own child. You know that she must have been out of her mind, her sanity at least temporarily gone south. How else can you explain it, give it a name? Back in January the ground was cold and hard, the trees were bare, the river frozen over in large part except for a spot in the middle of a bend, the water dark, like an open mouth waiting to be fed. Under a large oak there was a makeshift memorial. Teddy bears, a stuffed penguin, convenience store single roses in cellophane tubes.
Yesterday I drove back to the spot, curiosity got the best of me. I wondered if the little memorial was still there, if it had gone unmolested. I wondered if the people who loved this baby and her mother had kept the small shrine up, or if revisiting the tragic spot was too painful, leaving their outpouring of grief and unanswered questions to the mercy of the elements, to fade with time. The hard packed winter ground had given way to knee high weeds, the memorial was overgrown, stuffed toys peeked out through weeds, no longer in a neat cluster, but scattered about, partially hidden by the tall grass and small scrub saplings. It's hard to find fault with anyone not wanting to continue coming here, I can't say I blame them. In another 6 months, a year, all evidence will be erased. The how and why, at least for the family and friends, will undoubtedly haunt them for the remainder of their lives.
To be honest, I probably would have forgotten the tragedy that took place along the banks of the Little Blue. Six months is an eternity when it comes to this type of thing. In the grand scheme of things, this story only garnered a few days of coverage in the local media, then it was on to the next, and the one after, and on it goes. I only remember it because I wrote about it, visited the spot, snapped a couple of photos. When you write about a particular thing, especially something as tragic and incomprehensible as a mother drowning her child, it tends to stay with you, tucked away in the back of your mind. I've driven by this area countless times, and what happened there comes to mind every single time. To be honest I didn't recall the names, or even the month it took place. I remember the stuffed toys, the hard ground, the dark mouth in the icy water, and the young woman who I encountered as I was walking up the hill, who looked at me through her pain, wondering who I was and why I was there. The tragedy touched me only because my curiosity got the best of me, and it haunts me still.
