Family remembers slain boy in happier times

Jori Kyler Joseph Lirette, 7, a provocateur of laughter and a budding practical jokester who appreciated animated television and the bass vibration of loud music, died last week.

Jori’s father, Jeremiah Lee Wright, 30, 414 W. Seventh St., Thibodaux, was arrested and charged with first-degree murder after he allegedly confessed to police that he decapitated his special-needs son.

No more than a mile away from where a passerby spotted Jori’s detached head on West Seventh Street in Thibodaux, his mother, aunt, grandfather and step-grandmother gathered on the porch outside of Jori’s grandmother’s house and remembered what they lost.

“Jori had a very good life,” said Jesslyn Lirette, Jori’s mother. “He was never any trouble. He was very happy and very loved, and we’re really going to miss him.”

Jesslyn initially expressed reservations about speaking to someone with the press corps and exclaimed against the prospect, but her father urged her to reconsider.

Thirty minutes later, Jesslyn said she has drawn inspiration from Nancy Grace, the cable television figurehead who has made a career out of crusading against child brutality.

“I never thought it would happen to me,” said Jesslyn, who had come to understand over four days the gravity and widespread appeal of Jori’s story, which was reported internationally.

“I heard (Grace) might call me, but I don’t know if I’ll talk to her. I don’t know if I can,” she said with a cringe.

Jori was born three months premature on April 8, 2004. At 10 ounces, he was “no bigger than a Coke can,” according to his grandfather, Dale Lirette Sr.

He suffered a stroke shortly after birth and required heart surgery at Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans. “He lived there the first year of his life,” Dale said.

The heart complications persisted throughout his life. He was also afflicted with cerebral palsy and had a feeding tube. Limited in his motor function, Jori spent a lot of his time in a wheelchair.

Jesslyn emphasized that he was freed of the chair’s restrictions while at his Thibodaux home on West Seventh Street.

“He would get down and roll around on the floor and have fun,” Jesslyn said. “He was not confined to a wheelchair. He could move the wheels to get himself anywhere he wanted to be. The wheelchair made him free.”

Jori had not yet reached a point where he could string together a series of words or ideas, but among the few words he knew and frequently used was “Hey.”

Nicole Lirette, Jori’s aunt, said her nephew would repeat the word with growing intensity until his target responded with equal enthusiasm. And people who dared to walk past Jori without speaking to him would meet the wrath of his playful backhanded slap to the arm, she added.

“You could have the most rotten day and his smile would make you smile,” Nicole said.

Jori liked to swim and draw pictures, his mom said, but his favorite pastime was slamming cabinet doors in the kitchen. “He thought that was funny,” Jesslyn said.

His demeanor was contagious. In spite of his condition, family members stressed, he never “whined” and almost always smiled.

“He would laugh, laugh and laugh and, sometimes, we just wondered what he was laughing at,” Jori’s grandfather Dale said. “Then, we would crack up because he was cracking up.”

Jori enjoyed animated television. Buzz Lightyear, from the “Toy Story” series, was his favorite character, but he also enjoyed watching “Cars,” “SpongeBob SquarePants,” “Family Guy” and “Robot Chicken,” family members said.

The child also loved loud music. Linkin Park was his favorite band, his mother said, because he enjoyed the beat of the bass when the volume was cranked up.

“Jori had an electricity about him that sucked one toward him, a gravitational pull that made you want to be with him,” said Jade, a family friend. “Such a gentle little boy, even Jori’s cries of discontent were soft and almost mumbled.”

Jori attended South Thibodaux Elementary from pre-kindergarten to second grade. Diane Smith, the school’s principal, said she’d cherish the fact that she was able to speak to Jori the Friday before his death.

“He was a sweet kid,” Smith said. “Of course, you could only tell by his face and his emotions. Unfortunately, he couldn’t speak. It was just learning words. He smiled. He was happy to be at school.”

Jori’s funeral was held yesterday at St. Genevieve Church in Thibodaux. A Precious Moments stuffed giraffe that was given to Jori in the days following his birth would be buried with him, said Jesslyn, who added that she had wrestled with the prospect of holding onto the memento as a keepsake for herself.

“My heart feels like Humpty Dumpty after he fell off the wall,” Dale said. “You can’t put those pieces back. It’s just something that’s going to be gone.”

Outside of the white house, well within earshot of a screaming Harley Davidson engine that sent Jori’s diaper-clad toddler cousin scurrying to his mother, Dale Lirette Sr. sat on the top step of his ex-wife’s porch.

“We’re still friendly,” said Rebecca Lirette, Dale’s wife, about the dynamics between the current and previous lovers. “We always have been. It’s better for the kids.”

Jesslyn is the middle child among seven siblings. She, too, was apparently approaching a separation in her relationship with Jeremiah Wright.

Wright told investigators Jesslyn had left him alone with Jori while she went to an auto-repair shop to pick up her truck, which she then planned to use to bring Wright to his parents’ house, according to a sworn statement by the arresting officer.

Jesslyn’s family corroborated the detail. “She was supposed to (leave him),” Dale said, uncertainly. “She was supposed to. That’s what I was told.”

If that belief is true, that Jesslyn’s relationship with Wright had reached its end, then the regret Jesslyn expressed four days after the tragic accident coincides with the realization that the difference between a safe future and a permanent void was a five-hour absence.

“If I could do it again, I wouldn’t have left him at home,” she said. “I would have brought him with me.”