The eldest, Cora, was five when her mom strangled her. I remember being five. I knew my mother and my extended family. I communicated with them, trusted them all, and understood many things about my world along with them. Cora probably wanted to be like her mother. I doubt that she understood what was happening as she died in pain. To whatever degree she did understand, that must have made it worse.
Cora's younger brother Dawson was three when his mother put the cord around his neck. Maybe he first thought it was a game or some sort of odd caress, but then it was excruciating. And Callan, the baby, was eight months old. He was probably sitting up, maybe crawling a bit, focusing with big eyes, holding on to his mom, dad, brother and sister with chubby hands, trying to talk.
Many people I know would love to make an example of psychiatry: despite good insurance coverage, the "treatment" provided to these kids' mom was over-the-top terrible; psychiatrists quite literally turned her into an insane child killer with their drugs and their dehumanization, and she had never been evil until she was in their hands.
Some good friends argued around my dinner table earlier this week about how tragic it is that the trad-mom movement (the term is almost brand new to me, I had read it before but never heard it spoken) among younger conservative or evangelical women is just ruining all the progress brought by many decades of feminism.
I'd probably trade all feminist achievements and all public recognition of the truth about psychiatry to bring back three kids whom I never met.
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