(FYI: The following is my worst nightmare come true–and probably the longest hour in my life. But it ends ok. Keep that in mind as you read this. It’s poorly written, but I don’t know how to craft hell.)
Sometimes, time stands still in a way that is glorious. Summer
evenings perfectly balmy, sitting on your porch that overlooks the
city, soaking in the last of the warmth the day held, the smell of
honeysuckle getting all mixed up with the smell of your wine. I
live for those moments. Moments full of the laughter of close
friends–there’s a sort of magic in it all.
Sometimes,
time stands still in a completely different manner. Trapped in a
hot car waiting in a parking lot of a freeway. Waiting for an
exam to begin, or test results. Small children screaming at you
in the wee hours of the night, tiny tummies bound up with colic.
Anticipating lab results. Getting lab results. Facing the
lab results.
Eight year olds riding off on their bikes and not returning. Time stands still and it is horrific.
I’m
not sure what I expected. Oh, I expected to face it in some
way. IZ says I’m a worst case scenario kind of person–that I
imagine my worst nightmares and how I will cope with them as a way of
steeling myself against the odds and the possibility of actually having
the worst happen. It’s a precaution. It’s a coping
mechanism. It’s insanity–and it doesn’t work.
Nothing
prepares you for the reality that you have allowed your child a small
bit of freedom and in that freedom he has disappeared.
Vanished. When the reality hits you that he has not come home and
checked in, that he is not where he should be, that there is no trace
of him, that no one has seen him, that he does not answer your calls,
Time takes on a completely different texture. Minutes pass before
you but you stand completely still. Screaming does not change
your perception nor your reality–neither does vomiting or crying or
pleading with the Universe. Nothing alters your perception that
the world has completely sped away from you and that you no longer
exist on the same plane. You are suspended in a hell worse than
death. Your child is missing.
My child is missing.
Nothing
prepares you for your reaction either. I couldn’t manage the
phone call to the police. IZ called them–after walking our
street several times and the neighbor boys setting out on their bikes
in search of him–and gave them his description. IZ could not
remember our street address or what he was wearing. I
could. What I could not do was face punching the numbers into
the phone. Instead, I paced our driveway–my pleas to God
punctuating IZ’s conversation with 911.
"He’s wearing shorts. . . "
"No, he has on a grey shirt with green stripes and grey sweatpants. . . "
Please, God, where is my child?
"We live at 534 Kens…"
"No, IZ! It’s 559 Kensington!"
Please, God, where is my child?
I
was not prepared to fall apart, to come undone. In all my worst
case scenarios, I never factored in my complete fracture. I never
imagined what the effect of time standing still would have on my
ability to function. My undoing was so unnerving for our neighbor
(mother of boys in the search party) she got in her car and began
canvasing the neighborhood despite the fact she was just out of surgery
last week and still in immense pain. She and IZ both took off to
search while I paced in front of our house–her cell phone in one hand,
our home phone in the other. And it was at the point I realized,
I was NOT ever going to be prepared for this. Nothing was ever
going to make this OK. Nothing was going to start time again as
long as my child was gone, as long as I didn’t know where to find him.
Fortunately,
phones ring with good news. Boy Wonder had made a wrong turn
(verboten!) and left our street (Uber Verboten!!) and because we live
on a hill his wrong turn had him careening downhill into town. He
finally managed to stop and attempted to help a motorcyclist at a stop
sign who inadvertently lost his saddlebags. (NO NO NO!) He also managed
to ask for help in finding directions back to his home and had just
navigated onto our street when the police and IZ caught up with
him. He defends his decision to ask for directions from strangers
by pointing out that he did make it almost home and that he couldn’t
locate police. He was quick to identify himself to the officer in
charge as well as let them know he was lost not a runaway! And all of
this has humorous overtones that I can’t begin to fathom because it all
happened in a space I only recognize as hell. Maybe
tomorrow. When tomorrow comes.
