When I got to work this morning, it was my duty to read through two of the most obscene reports imaginable. One was the Layton Police probable cause statement on Nathan Sloop, the stepfather accused of beating 4-year-old Ethan Stacy to death.
The second report on Ethan's mother Stephanie was even worse.
The details surrounding Ethan's death are not pretty.
The police report shows that as Ethan was experiencing a painful, slow death, his mother did nothing to remove him from the source of his injuries: the love of her life, Nathan Sloop.
Then it hit me.
Ethan Stacy most likely died on Mother's Day.
As I awoke last Sunday to help the kids prepare breakfast in bed and wrap up the last of several small gifts meant to honor a great mother, Police say Stephanie Sloop was busy hiding the body of her son.
As if that painful irony wasn't enough, I read on that the Sloops kept the boy, who was vomiting from apparent head trauma, locked in a room without a door handle so they could slip away to get married. There are even worse things in the report, and all the while, investigators show how as the abuse got worse, Stephanie worked even harder to conceal it.
I can't help but internalize such things. As I see pictures of a happy little Ethan Stacy on my computer monitor, my attention is momentarily drawn away to other nearby pictures of my own 4-year-old, smiling back at me.
People often comment to me on how cool it must be to work as a journalist, and most days, I agree with them.
Today is not one of those days. This is a day when I'd prefer spending time with my 4-year-old, rather than reporting on such a hideous crime.
I can't wait to get home and hug my 4-year-old, and thank my wife for being such a great mother.
Just like I did on Mother's Day.