Posted on 06/24/2005 9:11:00 PM PDT by TheWriterTX
My children and a neighbor's son were energetically playing on my front lawn. With the garage door raised, I sat, phone, cigarettes, and drinks nearby, watching them tromp on my grass and race up and down the sidewalk. The weather was customarily warm, the air sanguine, the quiet of the street punctured by occasional loud barks of laughter from my son, daughter, and their friend.
The little ones asked if they could call on my next door neighbor's children. With a nod and a wave, I watched them go to the door. It had been quiet at Bonnie's house all day, so I was not surprised when my neighbor's son announced that no one was home. My daughter, ever delighted by the beautiful perennials in Bonnie's garden and potted plants on her porch, plopped down to admire the flowers. My son and his friend dashed back to their bikes and started "racing" again.
My neighbor, Terry, drove by, and I gave him a leisurely wave. Anthony fell off his bike, so I hurried over to check on him. With the resiliency of youth, his pained yelp was almost immediately replaced by a desire to "go faster," and we righted his bike so he could continue his adventures.
I returned to the garage and grabbed a quick slip of soda. I took a moment to light my cigarette and put the lighter back in a safe place. I stepped from the garage because my "radar" had gone off. It was nearing a minute since I had actually held my daughter in my sight, and a part of me was instinctively anxious. I looked towards Bonnie's front porch, no more than five long paces from the corner of my garage….
And she was gone.
My strong voice bellowed her name down the gentle tranquility of the street. I firmly expected her to appear from behind a potted plant or perhaps the corner of the house. I expected to hear her pretty little voice call "Mommy" in reply.
It didn't happen.
Now I was shouting her name at full volume, my tone insistent. Tossing the cigarette down, I rushed across the lawn to Bonnie's house, then to the side of house, then past the next house.
She didn't answer. She wasn't there.
I asked my son and his friend if they had seen her, had she gone into the house while I had my back turned. Blankie? I reasoned. A toy, perhaps? Demanding that the boys follow me, we searched the house, calling to her. I opened doors, closets, checked under beds, seemingly silly places.
No baby girl.
Back outside, for another mad dash up the street, this time passed several houses in both directions as an unfamiliar ache crept up my guts, clogged my lungs, and filled my throat. I called on God, I uttered profanities, I repeatedly screamed her name with a desperation that resonated in my ears. Had a car gone by? I thought crazily. How could someone have stopped and grabbed her from the front porch without my noticing? It couldn't be, I reasoned. She had to be here…somewhere!
But she wasn't.
This is not possible, my mind raged. This cannot be possible. This is not happening….
But it was.
I charged for the phone and called the police. Perhaps five minutes had elapsed since I first realized she was missing, but every minute was another minute something terrible could be happening to her. I devolved into a creature that embodied everything I despised: horrified and helpless, I begged the police to come and continued screaming her name on the sidewalk, as if by some miracle my voice alone would compel her to magically appear before me.
I fluctuated from despondent and hysterical, pacing like a wounded lioness, to methodical and composed as I answered the rapid fire and determined questions of the dispatcher.
The boys ran around and shouted to her, looked through the house again while I stayed on the sidewalk. As the seconds ticked by, my need to be with her grew immeasurably, my guilt incalculably, and my heartache exponentially. Another neighbor, Kathy, came home, glanced over, and went inside. Little did I know Kathy also ran for her phone and began calling neighbors, sending up the alarm that my daughter was missing.
No more than a minute later, the police arrived. An officer and a separate car with a tracking dog screeched to a halt in front of me. Into the house we went, checking every toy cluttered room, past undone laundry and lunch dishes, vainly looking for her. I fumbled through the photo album to find a recent picture, my throat now harsh from crying. The police were preparing my daughter's information for an "Amber Alert."
My neighbor, Terry, who I had waved to earlier, received Kathy's call. He dropped everything and ran out of his house. Meanwhile, next door, my neighbor Bonnie, her children, and my daughter came from the back of their house to the kitchen for some juice. Bonnie's son noticed the police car lights flashing and they all made haste to the door.
Terry sighted my daughter, scooped her up, and brought her into my kitchen and arms. I dissolved into waves of sobs, clinging to her as if to make us one. She seemed to sense my need, because she curled into me and hugged me back, letting me kiss her and rock her to ease my own hurt, not hers.
In my mind, I had discounted the possibility of her going into Bonnie's house because I presumed Bonnie wasn't home. But that was exactly how it happened. They heard the doorbell ring, came from the back of the house, and when they opened it, my baby girl was sitting on the front porch. Being accustomed to playing at Bonnie's house, she breezed right in. All the time I was tearing myself apart in anguish, she was watching a movie in the back of the house and happily playing with Bonnie's children.
I now have a shock of gray hair to show for this experience. But if this is the only price I had to pay for it, I consider myself extremely grateful and wholly blessed. And my "radar," I discovered, now goes off almost instantly. ***
© 2003 Linda Prussen-Razzano
COPYRIGHT © 2003 BY THE AMERICAN PARTISAN.
Man, I've been called a DU plant, a liberal-in-disguise, the "absolute height of hypocrisy", Not a Real American, a bigot, a racist, whiny, haughty, and a pathetic excuse for a human being, and I didn't bother the Mods with any of it.
And that was just today!
No, FR has a no personal attacks policy. This is about as blatant as it gets. If you don't like something another FReeper wrote, then don't stop to call her HYSTERICAL and her writing a piece of crapp. Neither of those comments contributes to an intellectual debate. If you have nothing to say except to insult the poster, then move on.
BTW, I'm criticising the published article.
Is author the same person who posted it here?
If so, better again. It's good for journalists to get real-time feed back.
If this 2003 article was posted here by the author for anything other than critical perusal, I would say...Nicely constructed sentences. Terrible content, IMHO.
Oh, sorry...we're supposed to agree with the content because another Freeper wrote it!
Ahhh...okay thanks.
Next time I write an article, I'll just say (I'm a Freeper) after my by-line, and then BINGO...I won't get any criticism in my editors mail-box. Woo-hoo! Thanks a million. The secret to editorial success!
No flame here.
Every year my wife and I put out our Halloween display for the kids. It's an animatronic witch's cauldron filled with candy, glowing lights, and a stir stick that moves on its own. The kids really love it (although it tends to freak the littler ones a bit).
We've had this out for the past 5 or 6 years, and I've noticed that every couple of years or so the media will get out their trusty "deadly Halloween candy" squeeze bag and get to work. We've all heard it before--"Bring your kid's candy down to the hospital to get it x-rayed; Better safe than sorry, even though it's never happened in this town before; etc." It's pretty effective in killing the house-to-house candy-collectors, and it's a damn shame.
It's not the kids that believe in the Boogey Man--it's the parents.
It was timely in that her experience was related to the three dead children found dead in NJ and what a parent goes through in those first minutes. She said so in the comment section of the article she posted. Why do you have such hostility about this article? If you can't relate to this mother's desperation, then just go post on another thread that you do understand.
Sadly a lot of children end up dead in this country. Twice I have had a child missing for either a few minutes or a couple of hours. It turned out ok, but nonetheless I understand this kind of desperation. Most mothers would.
We'd love to read articles that you have written.
Post the links and lead-ins and we'll follow along.
Desparation and panic is common, especially where children are involved.
I just question calling in the cops after FIVE minutes, when all plausible avenues of finding the child aren't even considered. No matter how much you want to call the moderators to have me banned from this thread, it is an hysterical response.
What a waste of public resources.
A few of them have already been posted on FR. There in my links, if you want to search for them. :-)
And your age was? In what location were you raised? What year was this?
Well stated. I can't believe the "piling on" by those two. If that is all they could say, then I feel they should have moved on to the next libertarian thread.
Typical Irish.
Can't spell.
"There in my links"
Won't provide any assistance.
"if you want to search for them."
C'mon, sober up and do yer best....
Well, thanks for playing...
Sorry, I beg your pardon?
If you're truly offended by personal attacks, maybe you should sic the moderator on ButThreeLeftsDo, who has apparently decided that she is a drunk because of her nationality. That's what a personal attack looks like.
Regarding your 52-54: you're way out of line with the personal attacks. I think it's beneath you.
Not necessarily. In my teen years, a man exposed himself to my friend and I. He was in a car, we were walking. Called police. They caught the guy via "radio net" trying to leave town. Yep, we could describe his funny underwear too.
Childnappers can walk with child, away on foot. I think a lot depends upon where you live.
You nailed it........the minutes do indeed seem like hours when your child isn't with you (and should be). This story has a happy ending.........unfortunately so many don't.
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