I remember when my youngest daughter was 17. She struggled to fit in with our new town. I know moving away from our beautiful home when she was just 11 years old. I know the move was hard, leaving behind all of her family and friends. But, it was a time in our lives that warranted the change.
She struggled to make friends in school. Her grades began to drop. She withdrew into her own little world of fantasy shows and music. Both my husband and I had to work. I should have paid more attention, even though I had three older children to care for, she seemed to lash out the most. She began to want to hang out more and more with her older sister. She began to ask to go out to the same places and parties as her 17 year old sister. At first, I thought, this was a good thing, her older sister could keep an eye on her and they'd be together. We didn't need to worry about her. But, boy was I mistaken.
She began to go out more and more and spend less time at home and in school. When her dad and I tried to ground her for staying out, she would just leave. I thought I was doing the right thing. I tried grounding her, taking her privileges away, no phone, and television. However, everything I tried only made her grow further and further away.
Then, one day I came home from work and she wasn't in her room. I waited for her big sister to come home, thinking that they were together. When my oldest daughter came home about 7:30 p.m. she was just as surprised as I was that her little sister wasn't at home, and then I began to crumple. I called my husband at work in a panic and he told me to clam down and wait for awhile, she'd be home. We waited until after mid-night.
I called our local police station and a car was dispatched. Upon arrival, I opened my front door and began to describe my daughter to him and explain that I felt that something horrible had happened to her. The officer told me to calm down, that most likely she was a runaway and would show up in a few days. He stayed just long enough to get her name and description and said he'd put out the word but that I was not to worry, she'd come back. As he turned to leave he stated, “I see this all the time.”
The feeling I felt at that very moment was complete and utter rage. I was livid at this officer. He did not know me. He did not know my child and he just smiled and walked back to his car. How dare he think my child would willingly leave and not tell me where she was or who she was with. That she was a “run-a-way.” I slammed my front door and began to sob
When my husband came home he changed out of his work clothes and got back into his car and drove all night looking for her. Nothing. I contacted all her friends I knew of that may know anything about her whereabouts. But, nothing. I couldn't work, couldn't eat, and couldn't sleep. How could I do these things and not know if she was able to do them as well? Is she eating? Is she able to sleep? Is she safe? My mind just could not function. I had to know where she was. I became fixated on finding my daughter.
I called everyday to the police station on any word, it was always the same, “Don't worry, she'll be home.” So I continued to go out everyday to a new town and place flyers of my daughter everywhere. The not knowing was destroying me. Her two older brothers had the hardest time going to school each day, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months. We were frayed, we were broken. The pain was so deep. My husband and I could only look at each other, words were not spoken. We just assemble there close to the phone, waiting.
Two months had passed and no sign of my baby girl. The posters I had made were plastered all over our town and neighboring towns. I continued to linger, wait to hear something. I continuously called her friends as I felt someone knew something about where she was, who she was with. The fear, the aching, the emptiness grew each day. I knew I had to pick myself up and go on, but, how could I go on not knowing if she was alive, happy?
The nightmares where horrific. This was the most difficult time of my life struggling to come to terms with the fact that my child may never come home again. I may never see her beautiful face again.
It was about 9:15 p.m. on a Friday night. My phone rang. I answered, “Hello.” This calm voice came over the phone and said, “Mommy, I want to come home. Have daddy come pick me up.” I screamed. It was my baby girl, she was alive and she wanted to come home. I quickly called my husband at work and he left immediately to pick her up, in town. Those 20 minutes were the longest 20 minutes I can ever remember. I got her brothers and sister in my room and said she was coming home. We were elated.
When my husband pulled into the garage I waited in my room, my heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to inflate right out of my chest. As soon as our eyes met, we grabbed onto each other and cried. I could not let go. She was home, she was alive she was in my arms, again. We were all so grateful she was alive. We were just glad she was with us. All the fear, rage, pain, anguish was gone, for only that short moment. I wanted to understand, I needed to know how she willingly ran away. I needed to know why? The despair of those two months left a profound scar in my heart.
She never put into words why she left to this day, and it's been 7 years now. She never explained why she left or where she went. She rejected to tell me why she left or why she wanted to come home. Those two months have never been explained even though, there is not a day that goes by that, when I hear of a missing child, a runaway, a kidnapped child, that my heart doesn't begin to pound again in my chest and I cry.
