I Died On Christmas Day

Audio cover Informally

 

Buy The Audio Book

 

informally

 

Buy The Book

 

This story was inspired by an opinion piece about Jorelys Rivera, a seven-year-old girl who will not open gifts this Christmas. If you cannot stomach graphic truth, do not read it, you have been warned.

It was December 25, 1968. A god lived in our old house, a god who didn’t allow his subjects to come from their rooms until he emerged from his. Christmas Day was no exception. He didn’t emerge until after lunch. Four innocent souls stood in doorways trying to get a peek at the tree or the little bundles of heaven wrapped in colored paper and bows.

The day moved on, the egg shells placed carefully to catch unsuspecting little feet were scattered with loving care. Their crunching sounds were barely audible, but screamed in our universe. Step on a crack, break your mothers back, step on a shell go directly to $%^&.

A mistake was made, by whom, unimportant. The face of our god flushed red, gone was the Christmas god. The remnant of presents were scattered throughout the room, the remnants of breakfast was still on the table, the remnants of a fire smoldering in its place and the remnants of sanity swirled, rose and vanished into the air.

It happened quickly, it always did. I turned to see the fist of our god, it had risen and was destined to fall. The first punch took my breath even as I tried to avoid it, a sin in itself. The second busted my lip, the taste of blood its little gift. I knew the taste of blood well. The third to the stomach bent me forward allowing the tooth, already roaming around loose in my mouth to be projected onto the floor at my feet. I concentrated on that unruly tooth as a series of punches came too quick to comprehend and seemingly from all directions at once. The tooth held some importance I could not discern.

My mind raced and screamed into the universe, why, what did I do?

My next gift a broken rib and the sound of my nose exploding. My heart and lungs fought for every moment, but my legs gave up early and I spread across the floor like snow melting in a cozy room. I grasped at consciousness, it being all I had.

Now the time of our god’s foot had arrived: it kicked, something broke, it kicked, something tore, it kicked and reality shattered then scattered across the floor before my eyes. I could feel death breathing on me as my hair was grasped firmly. My heart pounded in my head or maybe it was my head being pounded on the brick hearth in front of the fireplace.

Sickeningly, my mind counted the times it rose and fell on the bricks, one, two, ten and twelve, it counted down the seconds of my life. I saw the fire with such clarity, a message from the real God I couldn’t comprehend, perhaps? Somewhere in it all this, the words, I’ll you kill you little son of a so and so, the last words I’d ever hear, wormed their way in. The fear, the pain and the sick, slimy, sticky, warm taste of blood were the memories that came with them. In the end death has a warm, welcoming embrace.

I awakened to find I was mistaken. What do you do the day after you die? What do you do the rest of your life? No police were called, no hospital was visited and no one explained how a dead child is supposed to act. Some things must be figured out by an eight-year-old, by himself. It only took a couple week of being buried in my room, out of sight of the world, for me to walk this earth again.

Sometimes I am told before, during and after I speak, to GET OVER IT. I have.

I speak because dead children cannot. I speak for children like Jorelys who die at the hands of a monster in a nightmare reality. I speak for the five children in America, each day, average age three, who are cowering in corners as someone they know love and trust beats them into the silence of death.

I speak because I died several times and God allowed me to come back. He DEMANDS  I speak. I speak for the five children who will die each of the twelve days of Christmas.

We will always know who Jorelys was, but everyday five who live will slip into their own Silent Night and no one will know their names.

Kennesaw Taylor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE1ttQJq80o

ATHENS PATCH I DIED ON CHRISTMAS DAY

I Died On Christmas Day

Audio cover Informally

Buy The Audio Book

informally

Buy The Book

 

This story was inspired by an opinion piece about Jorelys Rivera, a seven-year-old girl who will not open gifts this Christmas. If you cannot stomach graphic truth, do not read it, you have been warned.

It was December 25, 1968. A god lived in our old house, a god who didn’t allow his subjects to come from their rooms until he emerged from his. Christmas Day was no exception. He didn’t emerge until after lunch. Four innocent souls stood in doorways trying to get a peek at the tree or the little bundles of heaven wrapped in colored paper and bows.

The day moved on, the egg shells placed carefully to catch unsuspecting little feet were scattered with loving care. Their crunching sounds were barely audible, but screamed in our universe. Step on a crack, break your mothers back, step on a shell go directly to $%^&.

A mistake was made, by whom, unimportant. The face of our god flushed red, gone was the Christmas god. The remnant of presents were scattered throughout the room, the remnants of breakfast was still on the table, the remnants of a fire smoldering in its place and the remnants of sanity swirled, rose and vanished into the air.

It happened quickly, it always did. I turned to see the fist of our god, it had risen and was destined to fall. The first punch took my breath even as I tried to avoid it, a sin in itself. The second busted my lip, the taste of blood its little gift. I knew the taste of blood well. The third to the stomach bent me forward allowing the tooth, already roaming around loose in my mouth to be projected onto the floor at my feet. I concentrated on that unruly tooth as a series of punches came too quick to comprehend and seemingly from all directions at once. The tooth held some importance I could not discern.

My mind raced and screamed into the universe, why, what did I do?

My next gift a broken rib and the sound of my nose exploding. My heart and lungs fought for every moment, but my legs gave up early and I spread across the floor like snow melting in a cozy room. I grasped at consciousness, it being all I had.

Now the time of our god’s foot had arrived: it kicked, something broke, it kicked, something tore, it kicked and reality shattered then scattered across the floor before my eyes. I could feel death breathing on me as my hair was grasped firmly. My heart pounded in my head or maybe it was my head being pounded on the brick hearth in front of the fireplace.

Sickeningly, my mind counted the times it rose and fell on the bricks, one, two, ten and twelve, it counted down the seconds of my life. I saw the fire with such clarity, a message from the real God I couldn’t comprehend, perhaps? Somewhere in it all this, the words, I’ll you kill you little son of a so and so, the last words I’d ever hear, wormed their way in. The fear, the pain and the sick, slimy, sticky, warm taste of blood were the memories that came with them. In the end death has a warm, welcoming embrace.

I awakened to find I was mistaken. What do you do the day after you die? What do you do the rest of your life? No police were called, no hospital was visited and no one explained how a dead child is supposed to act. Some things must be figured out by an eight-year-old, by himself. It only took a couple week of being buried in my room, out of sight of the world, for me to walk this earth again.

Sometimes I am told before, during and after I speak, to GET OVER IT. I have.

I speak because dead children cannot. I speak for children like Jorelys who die at the hands of a monster in a nightmare reality. I speak for the five children in America, each day, average age three, who are cowering in corners as someone they know love and trust beats them into the silence of death.

I speak because I died several times and God allowed me to come back. He DEMANDS  I speak. I speak for the five children who will die each of the twelve days of Christmas.

We will always know who Jorelys was, but everyday five who live will slip into their own Silent Night and no one will know their names.

Kennesaw Taylor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE1ttQJq80o

ATHENS PATCH I DIED ON CHRISTMAS DAY

 

Abington woman sentenced in child abuse case

An Abington woman, accused with her ex-boyfriend in connection with the abuse and neglect suffered by an infant boy in their care, is behind bars for her “atrocious” conduct.
Colleen Melissa Miller, 32, of the 1000 block of Tyson Avenue, was sentenced in Montgomery County Court to 11 ½ to 23 months in the county jail after she pleaded guilty to misdemeanor charges of endangering the welfare of a child and recklessly endangering another person in connection with her contact with the 7-month-old child.
“Essentially, she is admitting that she left this child alone with a man that she knew to be very violent and dangerous … which exposed that child to the risk of serious bodily injury, and that child was seriously injured while in that man’s care,” said Assistant District Attorney Samantha Cauffman, who argued for significant jail time against Miller.
Judge Thomas C. Branca also ordered Miller to complete three years’ probation after she’s paroled from jail and to undergo intensive drug, alcohol and mental health treatment as conditions of the sentence. The judge said Miller is eligible for the jail’s work release program but is prohibited from having any contact with the child.With the charges, authorities alleged Miller left the child, for whom she was caring, alone with her former boyfriend, John Matthew O’Neill, even though she had a protection order against O’Neill, and then didn’t seek immediate medical care for the child when she returned home from a night of drinking and discovered the child suffered serious injuries to his anus, allegedly at the hands of O’Neill.

“What this woman did, by leaving this child to the whims of a very dangerous man, is atrocious, and she needed to pay for her actions, which were much more than just a series of bad decisions,” said Cauffman, who previously argued Miller “violated the most sacred duty” a person can have, which is to keep a child safe.

Defense lawyer Mark A. Hinrichs argued for leniency, in the form of probation, for Miller.

O’Neill, 33, of the 1400 block of Arnold Avenue, Abington, is still awaiting trial on charges of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse, sexual assault, aggravated indecent assault of a child, indecent assault of a child, reckless endangerment, child endangerment and simple and aggravated assault in connection with his alleged contact with the 7-month-old infant.

Cauffman said the child is “on the road to recovery” from his injuries.

O’Neill, who remains in the county jail, allegedly gave conflicting statements to detectives about the cause of the child’s anal injuries, including claiming a pet cat caused the injuries or that the child fell against a bathtub fixture during bathing, according to the arrest affidavit.“O’Neill admits being the sole caretaker of [the child] prior to and during the time where [the child] received his injuries,” Abington Detective Michael Begley alleged in the criminal complaint.

The investigation determined Miller, at about 10 p.m. Aug. 12, 2011, allowed O’Neill, her ex-boyfriend, to come to her home, even though she had a valid protection from abuse order that prohibited O’Neill from being at her residence, and asked him to stay with a child that was in her care while she went out with her new boyfriend, court papers indicate.

Miller allegedly returned home at 3 a.m. Aug. 13. After a brief discussion during which O’Neill allegedly stated the child was “fine,” Miller asked O’Neill to leave the residence. As O’Neill left he allegedly stated to Miller, “There’s blood in the trash can, it’s from me,” according to the arrest affidavit.

When Miller checked on the child she noticed blood on the bedding.

“She also found blood throughout other areas of the house. Miller found blood splatter, bloody diapers, towels, sheets and baby wipes,” Begley alleged, adding Miller noticed something unusual about the child’s anal area while removing the child’s diaper.

At about 4:40 a.m. Miller allegedly sent a text message to a relative stating, “You need to come, what I have to show you is not good,” according to the arrest affidavit. However, even after Miller couldn’t reach her relative, Miller did not call for medical assistance for the child, authorities alleged.

Miller’s relative, retrieving the message about six hours later, rushed to her home at 10:45 a.m. and found the child “unresponsive but breathing,” and noticed the child’s anal injuries and bruising to both sides of his head at his temples and under his jaw, according to the criminal complaint. Miller’s relative rushed the child to Abington Memorial Hospital.
The child underwent emergency surgery for what doctors described as “horrific injuries to the anus area,” which were life-threatening, according to court documents.

When authorities took O’Neill into custody, they discovered what appeared to be a blood “splatter mark” on the top of his right shoe, according to the arrest affidavit.
Due to the child’s critical condition, the little boy was transported to The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia where doctors diagnosed the injuries to the child’s anus as “violent trauma,” including perforation of the intestines, according to the criminal complaint.

The child underwent emergency surgery for what doctors described as “horrific injuries to the anus area,” which were life-threatening, according to court documents.

When authorities took O’Neill into custody, they discovered what appeared to be a blood “splatter mark” on the top of his right shoe, according to the arrest affidavit.

CREDITS By Carl Hessler Jr. chessler@journalregister.com

http://www.montgomerynews.com/articles/2012/11/07/glenside_news_globe_times_chronicle/news/doc5093dda236e37018843180.txt?viewmode=fullstory