It is never easy to hear about crimes committed against children, never. But there is something about the Karissa Boudreau case that strikes even closer to my heart. Maybe it is the short distance between our two communities. So close in fact that the woman who stole her life is housed in a building I drive past on my way to and from work every day. Perhaps it is because I know how cold and wet and dark a Nova Scotian winter is and I can't imagine worse place to die then laying on that cold ground. Perhaps it is because I wanted desperately for the gnawing suspicion that her mother was involved to be wrong.
If my suspicion was correct I needed for it at least to be a terrible accident. A fight between a stressed out, ineffective parent and a saucy preteen that escalated into a physical altercation, maybe a shove that led to a blow to the head and then blind panic. It would still be horrible, it would still be unthinkable that she staged such an elaborate lie, perpetrated such a fraud. But there is a hint of something you can almost wrap your head around. A mistake can happen so easily, situations can spiral out of control. That is what my heart wanted to believe. However today's revelation of what actually transpired is so much worse then I ever could have imagined. I am literally sick to my stomach reading the details of how this woman stole the life of her own child.
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