It's 1:30 p.m., and I am waiting for the final chapter in the story of the murder of Aveion Lewis to come to a close. How time flies.
I can't believe it's been two years to the day since Brandon Lockett was arrested for improperly disposing of Aveion's body. Two years since I followed rescue workers as they scoured southeast Roanoke looking for the boy.
Two years since I sat in the Lockett home – in the same place where Aveion was tortured. Two years since I hugged a mother who begged for her son's return.
Two years since I first started to imagine my own daughter in Aveion's shoes. Like Aveion, she was also two at this time.
Two years since I sat at the edge of a landfill watching men in white suits dig through the trash, eventually finding the dead boy. I will never forget how cold it was that day; accented by huge fluffy snowflakes.
So to tell you sitting in court waiting for Brandon Lockett's sentence is making me anxious is an understatement; anxious for this terrible story to finally come to a close. Morgan Lockett got 40 years earlier this month, and Brandon is expected to get 50… just peanuts compared to Aveion's death sentence.
This day also means it will all be over for me as well. Now I can move onto another terrible story and leave this one behind. All except for the image of Aveion's young, cute face etched in my mind forever. That part won't move on. There are just too many things that remind me of him – especially my now 4-year-old daughter whom I get to see, smell and be with every single day.
How lucky I am. Rest in peace, Aveion.