Daddy Finger

I just came to the realization that Dad must have been terrified about what was going to happen to me after he died. I can almost feel his fear. He was helpless to do anything about it anymore. My life was out of his hands (and thank goodness for that!!). We were so close and even though I was mistreated, I know he THOUGHT he was doing what was best for me no matter how warped his reality was. These are my thoughts as my 3 year old son comes to me singing "daddy finger, daddy finger, where are you?". All I can think about is reaching up and wrapping my tiny hand around my daddy's fat thumb. I'm sure he prayed for me and my future. He knew he'd be long gone when I grew up and got married. I'm sure he prayed I would meet a Godly man who would take care of me. I did, and now my oldest child has his smile.

Don't judge a book by it's cover.

From the outside looking in, I am like any other suburban mom. I live in a middle class two story house with a comfortable middle class life. I am a veteran school teacher with a master's degree. I have friends, a supportive family, a wonderful husband, a cute toddler, and a baby on the way. Only a few close friends and relatives know my secret. For years I have kept my silence because it was too painful to talk about. When I have told the story, the shock and awe reaction is a bit much for me to handle. I was a missing child for 11 years. I didn't know I was missing! My parents were separated and my father had unsupervised visitation rights. Court orders are dated August 17, 1977. It was supposed to take place every Sunday from 2-5 PM at a specific location. I was not quite 2 years old (my birthday is in November). My mother and half-brother dropped me off one hot summer afternoon, but noticed something strange. I had Daddy's hand while we were walking away, but I looked back at them with a fearful look, and they knew something was wrong. When they came to pick me up later, we were gone. I can only imagine the grief and turmoil my mother experienced during this time. I have a toddler. I would be broken if he were taken from me. I know my brother still grieves and has a hard time with this 35+ years later. Asking family members to dig up old hurts and wounds is something I cringe at. However, this isn't just my story to tell. This blog will chronicle our story with the purpose of giving hope to others, and allowing our family to finally heal and process what happened to us. Stay tuned! More to come...