Jackson Free Press

He was found amid the stench of discarded wet coffee grounds, smushed cereal boxes and blackened banana peels. Ten fingers, 10 toes, a perfect baby. But a dead baby. Little John Paul Doe, as the sheriff's deputy began calling him, was filled with life when he was born, but then life was smothered out of him. He was discarded like yesterday's trash.

The funeral of Little John Paul Doe was held the morning of May 11, two days after Mother's Day. Teddy bears leaned against a spray of sweet-smelling white roses and blue forget-me-nots. Under the burgundy tent, the hole in the ground was about 18 inches x 36 inches, and was not very deep, perhaps 2 feet. A carpet of plastic grass framed the hole.

A young slender black woman carrying a small stuffed blue bunny walked up beside me. "This is so tragic, so tragic—it's just so sad for somebody to do something like this," she sobbed. "He didn't have a chance to even hug a teddy bear or anything, it is so sad."

"Who found this baby?" I asked her.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "All I know is the garbage man called the police after he found the baby. So one of them went out there, and gathered up the baby."

A white funeral van pulled slowly up to the site, and two men emerged. I was expecting them to pull out a small coffin. I sensed everyone holding their breath. Instead they pulled out a folded wooden rack, then placed a white cover over it and put it just beyond the gravesite.

I looked across to the cemetery entrance. I could see several dozen motorcycles with blue lights flashing coming into the cemetery, and behind them was a funeral car—a chariot of black and silver. Behind this car were dozens of Jackson Police Department vehicles with their blue lights flashing.

As the procession slowly moved toward us, we strangers watched reverently, and an honor guard of JPD motorcycle cops stood at attention. The hearse driver opened the large rear door of the vehicle. The pallbearers, assisted by the driver, gently pulled out the baby-blue satin box, with smocking on the sides. The large men gently lifted the tiny box, one holding each end as if the weight were much heavier than it was. They carried it to the small eyelet-covered pall, which resembled a bassinet.

Elder David Horton, wearing his police uniform, began the service: "We have things backwards in this life—we feel joy at birth and we cry when someone dies. We should all cry at birth, and rejoice at death." He said we should leave the judgment of this child's mother to God. Several of the officers dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Respect for a life not lived.

Another officer rose and begin to sing: "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world." Slowly, one by one, all of us joined in. Then silence.

Chief Robert Moore gave a brief poetic homily. He said: "We are all called forth to help this child. We are all children of the same God. The JPD is called to protect and to serve, but we did not have a chance to protect this child, so therefore we come to serve him. JPD has become this baby's family. Tonight when you look up and see a new star in heaven, that star will be baby John Paul Doe."

The chief said he hopes this sends a message to other young people out there in our city that they do have a choice—that there is a state law that allows them to drop off unwanted newborns at any hospital—no questions asked. Over and over again, I could hear the whispers of, "Why?"

Several detectives with dark glasses were standing on the perimeters. Are they trying to see who looks like the likely mother? One woman remarked, "She will show up sooner or later." Or, will she? Is she one of the many homeless women in the Jackson area who did not want her baby to live the life she is living?

Two men moved forward, removed the flower spray from atop the small blue satin box, lifted little John Paul Doe up for the last time, then lowered him into the ground. After the prayers, after the teddy bears were gently tucked in around the box.

As others left, I stepped closer. There was a plywood frame, a few inches larger than the satin box, into which they placed the baby. The rainbow of colors—stuffed animals—were wedged in around the blue box. Then, one of the men placed another piece of plywood on top of the box. In black Magic Marker on top of the piece of plywood was written, "18-inch length."

The men began to scrape and shovel the soil back into the hole, and I heard the rocks and dirt hitting the little wooden box.

I stood there watching, thinking, waiting. What brings a mother to kill a new life she has just delivered? Or, was it perhaps that she had feelings toward this baby and that is why she snuffed out his life?

A little baby boy received into the earth again, but this time with love, tenderness, reverence and respect. And with a name. Tonight, I will look for that star.