When Caylee Anthony disappeared in 2008, I followed the news coverage with a sick heart. I hugged my then-6-year-old daughter a little tighter and whispered multiple prayers of thanksgiving for her safety. Caylee’s story made me imagine what it would be like to have a child disappear, and those thoughts terrified me on a level I didn’t know existed.
As it became clear that Caylee probably wouldn’t come home safely, the nation learned more about her mother, Casey. A young, single mom with an irresponsible streak, it was obvious that she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And as I held my own child, it wasn’t only Caylee’s story that scared me, it was Casey’s. Just as Caylee brought to mind my daughter, Casey reminded me of myself when she was first born. Keep reading »