There is much to be said about an accomplished life led.
Tragically, some lives fall far too short, leaving those left behind to wonder what could have been.
At the intersection of Sideroad 2 and Concession 6 in Wellington North, amidst a cacophony of cameras, equipment, and reporters, a black hearse quietly made its way from the back lane to pavement. Moments before, our reporter on the ground captured shots of officers saluting in tribute as the black Cadillac left the crime scene.
Inside that hearse, a tiny soul, only but a child, was being taken away for further examination at a forensics lab. A day later it would be announced that the remains were in fact those of Tori Stafford, the 8-year-old Woodstock girl abducted months earlier. While this ending was not what anyone wished for, it provides a much needed sense of closure for family members.
Our own trek to the upper reaches of Wellington County this past Monday was to chronicle this sad tale for our readers in a respectful way.
There was no question what lay ahead would be uncomfortable, but as the hearse passed the media scrum location it seemed to pull along with it every ounce of air in our lungs and not a sound was to be heard. It was one of those times when a quiet tear hidden behind sunglasses could just as easily have turned into uncontrollable sobbing that such wickedness would be inflicted on a child.
Many questions race through the mind at such a time: Why? What could have been? etc. Most of all, there is a sense of profound sadness that someone could harm a child and cast her away as if she were nothing.
An investigating officer lamented, for adults with children or nieces and nephews this tragedy is made all the more intense. Everyone tries so hard to keep their children safe, but that in itself is no guarantee.
On the way back into town we passed some young school-age Mennonites looking back from where we had come, wondering, wide-eyed at all the commotion in their typically quiet corner.
In a sense, the introduction of such a tragedy to the rural countryside is sinful in itself. Farm communities are a place where being neighbourly and looking out for others is a tenet of everyday living. The senselessness of it all will confound this busy but bucolic corner of north Wellington for some time.
The long country lane, with a stone pile and bush to the north will be forever known as the place where they found the little girl one time.
Oh, what could have been, if evil hadn’t visited that April day.
