You may have read their names: 13 Colorado kids who died last year in homes visited by social workers investigating neglect and abuse complaints.
You may remember how they died: Some starved. One was smashed against a coffee table. Another was body-slammed in the care of teenagers mimicking a video game, police said.
But who they really were, that’s a different story.
Jesse Weaver loved reptiles. Snakes. Lizards. Anything that slithered.
At wrestling, he would let opponents pin him so they didn’t feel bad for losing.
He ran away almost monthly. His outbursts were loud and violent. But when he smiled, everyone smiled, and his laughter was contagious.
Jesse raised a black rabbit named BJ who took first place at the Lincoln County Fair weeks after the 11-year-old fatally overdosed on a bipolar-disorder drug his mom kept in an unlocked cabinet.
Traci Weaver had taken Jesse off his meds and blames the system for overmedicating the son she says she favored among her five kids. The county has removed her surviving children from her care.
Seven-year-old Zoe Garcia could jump-rope all morning, then pogo-stick all afternoon. She baked cookies for her 3-year-old twin sisters, whom she rocked to sleep at night.
Zoe was grateful for any food you would serve her, any book you would read her and any fun you would offer.
She died in December after allegedly being hit, kicked and body- slammed by her 16-year-old half-sister who reportedly was imitating “Mortal Kombat,” a martial arts video game, with her boyfriend.
No one who taught Zoe or lived near her can talk about her without crying.
Two-year-old Alize Vick wore ponytails tied with Dora the Explorer barrettes.
At home, she danced. At the park, she chased ducks. She swung with her grandpa — who called her “Beetlebugs” — on the playground.
Alize knew all the words to “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” And she loved anything purple.
She chose purple hair ribbons for her grandmother’s wedding, where she danced in her flowered dress and ruffled socks. She was fatally thrown into her foster mother’s coffee table 10 days later.
Four-week-old Adrian Ruybal had a mop of black hair.
He didn’t live long enough for neighbors to notice his cries. And no one in his family would return phone calls to remember him.
Funeral home director Chris Gerk remembers his long fingers and flawless golden skin. She buried him in a tiny white tux and bow tie.
Gerk didn’t know Adrian, but she was pretty sure he was perfect.
“This case is still under investigation. I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t say,” said Phillips County Coroner Dennis Jelden, speaking in hushed tones, like everyone else interviewed for this column.
Our safety net is broken, and we delude ourselves that we are leaving no child behind.
We teach our kids that there are children starving in Africa. So, what should we tell them about the ones dying here at home?
The old riddle asks whether a tree falling in the forest makes a sound if nobody hears it.
We’re left wondering what is the meaning of these 13 lives if no one hears the voice of the next kid, and the one after that who desperately will need us all to listen.
Susan Greene’s column appears twice weekly. Reach her at 303-954-1989 or greene@denverpost.com.
