“Did you see what somebody spray painted on one of them?”

“No, what?”

“In giant letters, someone wrote GOD IS NOT IMPRESSED.” We both got a chuckle out of it. You see, I grew up in a small, rural church, where my grandfather preached, and I could never quite get used to monster-sized places of worship. Somehow, I thought some of the warm, personal intimacy a smaller church exudes would be lost in the grandeur.

Yesterday morning, I attended the memorial service for Caylee Marie Anthony at the First Baptist Church of Orlando. Before I even thought about going, I was fully aware that this church dwarfed the Winter Park one in magnitude, seating over 5,000 worshippers. I had many reasons to go. For one thing, I have been following this case since the beginning. After all, this is Orlando and it cannot escape me. I happened to be in the neighborhood when Leonard Padilla sent divers into the Little Econ River in November at Jay Blanchard Park. I stopped by and chronicled my time spent with Padilla, Todd Bosinski of Blackwater Divers, and some of the dive team. From that experience, I began writing about Caylee and felt compelled to take a different look at the story from what was being said on the news, the tabloid style journalists and twisted bloggers who didn’t have a clue. The twisted ones are the bloggers and commenters who would crucify me for attending a service by Caylee’s family, who they all despise, yet know nothing about. How dare they judge me. How dare I judge the lack of intimacy in a large church.

♦

I ran a post on my blog the other day, asking readers to write a few words of condolence to the Anthony family. I promised to deliver every one of them and I kept that promise. Initially, I wasn’t really sure if I’d go, but once that post ran, I was obligated and I felt a sense of honor to be able to hand the Anthonys those kind words, coming from within your own hearts. I guess there’s that journalist blood in me now. That was another reason why I wanted to go, to tell a different version, perhaps, in my own personal way. I’ve been so wrapped up in this story since Jay Blanchard Park, not to mention the trips I’ve made to the Hopespring neighborhood and the site where Caylee was found, it has become a part of me, and yes, I do feel tremendous compassion towards the Anthonys, especially after walking away from yesterday’s service.

When I got to the church, it wasn’t as crowded as I thought it would be. I waited in one of the lines for no more than 15 minutes. Even the drive down I-4 was remarkably smooth. Once I entered the huge structure, I waited briefly in another line to sign one of the two guest books. Then, I turned, walked a little way and entered the sanctuary. Oh, it was big, alright, but not intimidating at all. I chose to sit in an aisle directly in front of the pulpit, not off to a side. I was about 15 rows back, in the 3rd section. Each section is separated by a walkway extending across the room. When I found an aisle, a beautiful young lady was sitting there with room to spare. To be honest, I’m always attracted to beautiful women, but I never even noticed her until I was ready to sit down.

“May I?” I asked. I was prepared to sit on the end.

“Yes, but not there. Here, sit next to me.” What a pleasant surprise and how nice of her to ask me to sit beside her. It was then that I noticed she couldn’t have been more than 18-20 years old. I’m a bad judge of age, especially when they are that young. 

“Thank you. I’m Dave.”

“I’m Hayley. ” I hope I have the spelling right. I didn’t want to type Haylee. We did a little bit of small talk while soft music played in the background. In front of me sat Kathi Belich, of WFTV.

♦

The pulpit stood atop a large raised paltform, which was large enough to seat a full scale orchestra. Behind and above that were tiers of seats for the choir, only accessible from another level. Above that area and against the back wall was a large video monitor, I would say about 25 feet wide and almost as tall. What flashed before our eyes were vivid images of Caylee. Hundreds of them, never before seen. They were pictures of her with her mother, her uncle, her grandparents and even more with her greatgrandparents. You’ve seen nothing compared to what we saw. She was playing, opening presents and sitting on laps. This was clearly the happiest child in the world. For each and every person who seems to think, or think they know, how miserable this family was, you are dead wrong. Caylee had a very good, if short-lived, childhood and those images showed me much more than you could ever say. After sitting in my pew for about 15 minutes, throwing in a little small talk every now and again with my friendly neighbor, a pianist walked up to the on-stage piano, sat down and began to play Caylee’s favorite songs, like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and others, including children’s hymns. I must tell you it was a very nice place, not at all how I envisioned it. Most of the people were nice, too, but I got a big kick out of the church ushers in dark suits and ear pieces. They acted like Secret Service agents, all hot on themselves. After the piano player finished, everyone stood up as the Anthony family entered. Along with them came relatives and friends, many from the church they attend, the Eastside Baptist Church. The program then continued and as you can see, it was rather long, but never boring or unpleasant.

As some of the singers from both churches sang, several members of the church raised their arms to Heaven. I never got the concept of that and I think it looks embarrassing, but hey, whatever they’re into. It’s just not for me. Fortunately, my little neighbor didn’t do it or I might have had to excuse myself.

I think the most important part of the memorial was when the family walked up the stage, flanked by the ministers of their church, Shane Stutzman and Herkie Walls of Eastside, and First Baptist minister, David Uth. Lee was the first one to speak and he broke down several times. There is no doubt how much he loved Caylee. Over and over again, he said, “CMA, CMA, CMA,” pointing to things on his arm and for just the sake of crying out the initials of his poor, dead niece. I think he will forever wear a bracelet with her initials. I know rumors will spread that he was talking about his sister, but clearly, he was not. In the background, George welled up. Both parents put their hands on his shoulders to comfort him. The only reference Lee made about his sister was when he said to please yield to judgment.

When he finished, George took the podium. I was rather surprised because of the problem he had just gone through, but he held himself proud. All along, I’ve like George and he was exactly what I expected him to be, a tough, old cop hardened by his profession and softened to the point of melting by his sweet Caylee.

“Jo Jo, she called me, and Grandpa, too. Hey, Grandpa Jo Jo, she would call out to me.”

He talked about her smell, the smell of her hair, the smell of her skin as she walked in from outside. How they ate popcorn every night together and how she would greet her on Sunday mornings wearing all her beads. Caylee loved beads and had a whole chest of them. And green beans, too. You know how kids don’t like vegetables, he asked himself. Not Caylee. She loved her green beans. He waxed about living in a house with three females and how Caylee had her say just like the others. Oh, yes, she did, and what a loud voice she had. George told the crowd that Casey is their daughter and they are a tight family, a lot closer than they were and it is important that they stay together with God’s help. Yes, George came to terms with God after his slide, with the help of his wife and church. He asked for everyone to write Casey a letter, that she needs support. After George spoke, the crowd stood and gave him a rousing ovation.

You must understand that Cindy was not without tears all through this. When she took over from George, she seemed to be the most composed, though. Caylee called her Ci Ci, she said. She said she was blessed from the first moment she held Caylee in her arms and she thanked God that she was in her life, even if only for such a short time. She talked about how much Caylee had in common with her mother, the humor and compassion, and her love of life. How the household pets still miss her and look for her. Oh, how they played, knocking each other down all the time. At no time did Cindy raise her voice. This was not the Cindy you heard last year. She has a broken heart. When she finished, everyone gave her the same applause as George. I’m telling you, even Kathi Belich was wiping tears and drying her nose.

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When the memorial finished, the family and all their friends and relatives were escorted to one of the side exits to the annex for private consultations with their preachers. Rev. Uth came back out and delivered a closing prayer and it was over. One of the things I noticed was how almost hollow they looked. It was clearly evident that Cindy has lost a lot of weight. What would you expect? There was a lack of vibrance and I really did sense an everlasting sadness in them. No matter what you think, this family loved that little girl dearly and it was evident from before the start, when bright images of a happy Caylee flashed across the screen. No matter what, I didn’t see all of the discord that may have been. And trust me, that discord came at a much happier and better time of their lives.

♦

I went to that service with an open mind, not praising the Anthonys, nor condemning them. I am not what I would call an overly religious type person. I will say I am spiritual. This church did not intimidate me. It was quite comfortable. The service did not haunt me, either. It was a celebration of Caylee’s life. The Anthonys and all of the ministers asked for compassion. They prayed for it. Whatever you think in your mind, please put it aside for a moment and heed that advice. If you have an ounce of religion or spirituality in you, have a heart.

All images were taken after the service and can be enlarged by clicking.