Jessie Wade King, December 21, 2001 - September 21, 2003xxxx - Two xxxx County residents were in jail Monday, each on a charge of murder in connection with the death of a 21-month-old boy.
Robin King, 23, and John Hawkins, 32, both of 60258 Mount Zion Road in xxxx were expected to make an initial court appearance today or Wednesday on the charges, said Sheriff Ruble Maxey Jr.
Maxey said a 911 emergency call was received Sunday afternoon, and an ambulance sent to the xxxx address. The child, Jessie King, was taken to xxxxx Memorial Hospital's emergency room and pronounced dead. He was Robin King's son.
At that point, the sheriff's office was notified and the couple arrested.
Maxey said the cause of the child's death would not be known until after a Monday night autopsy."
I can't find the article which told of the autopsy report, but I recall that it said that little Jessie's death was due to blunt force trauma to the abdomen. His mother's boyfriend kicked him. What could a 21 month old child have possibly done to make someone that angry? Did he interupt a football game on TV? Wake the man up from a nap asking for water? Cry for his absent mother? Ask to play with cars on the rug once too often?
When the boy's mother came home, she found him on the couch. I'll be kind and not graphic, and not say in what state. She called 911 dispatch, and he was brought to our ER (thank heaven I was not on duty, missed it by one hour) and pronounced dead. When arrested, the two were actually surprised. Then angry. About what?
We'd all like to think of him being in a better place where he can have the childhood that all children deserve to have. I'd like to say, "Oh, he's in heaven..." like some do, but that still seems unjust. He should have at least finished childhood and experienced all of the wonderful mischief that it is. The poem below represents the childhood I would have wished for him in lieu of the one he got.
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping
Than he could understand.