My second daughter was a delight. She could crack one-liners that would send our family rolling with laughter. No one could ever stay mad at her. She was the “good kid”: the one who rarely broke the rules, did all her schoolwork, did her chores, etc. She was also a fearful child.
Sometimes that fear would annoy me like when she was 3, and I had to drag her kicking and screaming out the front door, so I could go buy food we desperately needed. Why did she do that? She was afraid of flies and there was one on the door. One fear of many. I don’t know how she became fearful of so many things. My introvert, my writer. It wasn’t uncommon for her to walk around the house arguing with her book characters over which way her stories would go.
She wasn’t crazy. She just loved to write, would immerse herself in her stories, and I allowed her the freedom to express herself verbally when she needed to. She never raised her voice to anyone, and I couldn’t leave her in charge of her siblings while I ran to the store. They walked all over her.
Her hair was so light she looked bald until she was 3. People would ask me how old my “son” was even if she was in a frilly dress. As her hair came in, it was dark blond and wispy. She was thin and a strong breeze could blow her over. I used to call her my fey child.
Under pressure from a friend, and a desire to overcome her fears, she moved across with the country with her best friend. I was both proud and worried. Everything was fine for a couple of years. She had a place to live, a job, new friends, and during one of our last conversations we discussed how to help her pay for college classes. She wanted to be a social worker and work with kids in the foster care system.
Out of the blue, I received an email telling us she wanted nothing more to do with us. “You have other kids to worry about.” is what she said. And she was gone. My fey child disappeared from our lives. She refused to answer her cell, so through email I begged, pleaded, yelled, threatened and anything else I could think of to get her to tell me what was going on.
Her best friend keeps telling us she is fine and refuses to give us any other information. I’m told not to worry, but I am her mother. I will worry and miss her constantly.
My mother is in very ill health. The only thing she wants is to hear DD2’s voice one more time. I email my daughter’s old email address on the off-chance she still checks it. Sometimes I ask her to just let me know she is alive and well. Other times I ask her to please call her grandmother. There is never a reply.
She turns 28 today. Last night, as soon as the clock hit midnight, the tears started. It’s been several years, and I don’t know where she is. I have tried to find her through public means but to no avail. I am trying to save money in order to hire a private detective. I’d give anything to hear her voice again.