Explaining Murder: My Children Don't Need the Why, I Do

I have had to explain death to my children. The first deaths were our dogs. Death was a vague concept for my children for a long time. They thought only their old great-grandparents died; people in their 80s and 90s, who had lived long, full lives. This summer, my father died at 76. His death was hard on me because, even though I know death is inevitable, I felt his was still so many years away. My kids understood that Grandpa died, and that was a part of life - that death is a natural part of living. Never in a million years would I ever imagine explaining murder to my kids, especially explaining to my children the murder of someone who was close to them.

This weekend, I had to explain to my 11 year old child with autism that one of his favorite teachers was not coming back to work again; that his teacher was in heaven with Grandpa and our dogs. But how could I tell him that, unlike his Grandpa, his teacher’s death was not natural and not normal? I could not explain to him the complexities of this man’s death, and the reason why it’s so hard to even comprehend.

Azel Hardy did not die in a tragic car accident, he did not die from a hidden health ailment, and he did not die of old age. He died because someone wantonly and willfully took his life, and that same person (or persons) was so cowardly that they left him in front of his home. I could not explain why the police department in our small southern town refuses to call it what it is: murder. I could not explain why the news media isn’t covering what kind of person Azel was, or what he did for my son and countless other children that went to my son’s school. I could not explain the why. I could not and I did not explain these facts to my children; I will make sure that they continue to be blissfully unaware of the pain, anger, and hurt associated with the why. But I also could not come up for an explanation for myself and I need one.

I met Azel almost three years ago when we he first started at the school. He was a big, burly guy, who was, admittedly, scary looking. Underneath that huge exterior, he was the gentlest, kindest person you could meet. My fondest memories are teasing him about his favorite football team, The Detroit Lions, every fall and winter, and how there was no way they would ever be better than my Minnesota Vikings. We would go back and forth with another therapist, who happened to be a Packers fan, about our Fantasy Leagues, and how he could dare show up on a Friday afternoon wearing Lion’s gear when my son was going to cheer for the Vikings.

He was a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a mentor, and a person. His life matters.

What the media and police don’t know about Azel was that he was a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a mentor, and a person. His life matters. He volunteered time and energy to Special Olympics. He built a technical lab at my son’s school, and he helped teach the kids life skills. On Friday and Saturday, he was at work during parent training, watching students and their siblings. My daughter loved him, because she liked playing in the gym and he gave her Skittles whenever she asked for them.

The biggest thing Azel Hardy for our children was he gave them dignity. He treated them with respect. He saw past the tantrums, the hitting, the biting, and the unpleasant things that come with teaching a child on the autism spectrum, and he treated them with respect and dignity. My son had a tantrum one day, and he was so upset that he soiled himself. Azel helped him clean himself up, and when I picked him up, Azel smiled at me, and said, “My man had a rough day today.” The very next day, I saw Azel - and he was smiling. Sometimes when my son has a rough day, it takes a lot for me to put on the façade of happiness and smile, but this man did it every single day. That’s what made him great, and that’s why he will be sorely missed.

I don’t know if the people who did this will ever read this, or if they even have the comprehension skills to read, but I want to know why. What filled your heart with so much hate that you would take this person from the Earth? What did he ever do to you to make you want to beat the life out of him? What was so offensive and disrespectful to you that you couldn’t handle it like a human being? Why? Was it because he was black? Did he cut you off in line? Did he owe you money? What made you decide to deprive so many people of someone so special? That I cannot explain.

Please pray for Azel Hardy, the Hardy family, the therapists and teachers at Emerald Coast Autism Center in Niceville, FL, and the students who were touched by Azel Hardy in Niceville and throughout the world. A GoFundMe page has been created to collect donations for the Hardy family during this trying time.

Many Kind Regards,
Jodi


Explaining death to a child and explaining the death of a child are heartbreaking moments. Creator Erin tackles the difficulties of the death of a child in this article.

Original image credit: Christopher Sessums