I was 8 years old, 2 months shy of 9, sitting in my 3rd grade classroom as the teacher is telling the class about a child 2 years older than us that went missing. I remember not understanding how this kid could go missing. That day in 1989, the entire state of Minnesota learned what evil is lurking in our little towns we always thought of as "safe". 

How does an 8 year old grasp the idea of a kid being kidnapped, we always thought that was a story our parents told us so we wouldn't be so trusting of strangers, I am fairly certain this case rattled the entire state to its very core. 

I have seen an outpouring of supportive words and condolences since this morning when they announced they had finally found his remains after 27 years. I will admit I had tears in my eyes too, the very idea that there is nothing left to hope for is a crushing one. All these years that family hung on tight, vowing to never stop looking for him, now what?  How do you recover from this?  

I am happy to see the love and support the public have been giving the Wetterling's, this is how it is supposed to be, you mourn with the parents even if you don't know them, you know that could have been your child. There have been no pointing fingers and blaming anyone but the oxygen thief sitting in prison right now. Nobody has cut open those wounds with harsh words and accusations, and I am happy. 

It takes a village, in this case, a state, and it is tragically beautiful. 

We need to stop the fighting and stop putting down other parents.  Instead, let us all join in a moment of silence and turn on our porch lights.  

After 27 years, an 11 year old boy is finally coming home. 

Published by Liz Zemlicka