Sunday, October 16, 2016

28th Anniversary of Michaela's Kidnapping is Cancelled

In just a little over a month, it will be the 28th anniversary of Michaela's kidnapping. Every year for a long while now I have gone to the market where she was kidnapped and have tied ribbons on the tree that is planted at the parking spot where she was kidnapped, and I have issued an open invitation to the public to come as well.

And every year I have wished that I didn't have to do that, that I didn't have to do anything, in fact, but if I had to have a missing child to remember, I just wanted to remember her, in my heart. Honestly what I have felt like doing was lying face down in that parking lot, in front of that tree with my eyes closed. Exactly what that would accomplish I don't know, but it is what I see myself doing, year after year, just collapsing and lying there. My joints are a little cranky for that sort of thing, but in my heart I am prostrate. I am not standing up and trying to think of something to say, in a voice that is powerful enough to reach the few people who show up year after year. Nor do I really want to have to make nice to the members of the Hayward Police Department who show up. I am absolutely certain that there are wonderful people among them, who carry Michaela in their hearts always and would do anything to find her. But quite frankly, I don't feel that the Department, with a capital D, cares anymore.

In June 2015 a team of search dogs from Texas came and located a couple of possible gravesites, led in their search by the detective who was then assigned to the case. After months and months they finally got around to investigating one of those sites, with a small, shallow dig, led by the FBI. I went and checked that site after they were there, and it was about a five-foot circumference, and according to the sticks we stuck in the earth, it was less than 18 inches deep. There were tree roots and compaction, our new detective told me, so they didn't dig any further. Call me stupid, but it seems to me that in 27 years, an awful lot of root growth can occur, and an awful lot of compaction can take place.

The other locations were never investigated at all by the police department. Not only that, but they gave the okay for volunteers to go out there and dig in the ground looking for Michaela. Can you imagine that? I'd been reluctant for this to happen, because I didn't want to be accused of potentially destroying any evidence, but what the hell, right? It has been 16 months and the police department shows absolutely no inclination to investigate these sites.

When our previous investigator took over the case, everything about Michaela had been shoved in a closet, including boxes filled with leads that were never investigated. For a few years he worked his heart out on it. He brought everything out of the closet, tried to organize it, go through the leads which came in before computerization. He was never really given the time to do it, of course. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children offered to come out and organize and computerize those early leads. They sent a couple of people for a couple of days and then I guess they decided it was too big a job, because they left and never returned. Now those who really cared and were in a position to do something are gone.

I don't know what there is left for me to do. Those people who write and tell me to stop looking for a living Michaela and start looking for her body, I asked if I should trade in my blog for a shovel. Well, we have done that. But the world is a big, big place, and a shovel is very small, and those who are willing and able to help are small and powerless, like me.

This is what I think. I think that the only way Michaela is going to be found is if she finds herself. If she is alive and aware enough to reach out to freedom of any kind, I am reaching out to her. Because at this point, if you called and gave the police department the location where she is, I don't think they would do anything, because the gang members killing other gang members are more important that one little girl who has been missing for so long she will never be found.

Despair, that's what I think is the feeling that makes me want to lie prostrate on the ground.

I will go this year and hang yellow ribbons on the tree. I will fill it up, as full as I can. And anybody else who wants to hang ribbons on the tree, please do so. Do it on November 19th, or November 18th or 20th or any old day you want. Please, please don't forget Michaela. Just forget me.

And Michaela, I love you forever. I feel so deeply that I have failed you, that I have permitted others to fail you without ever having to answer for it. If you are alive, I am here, my arms are open, my heart is open. I love you. If you are not, if you are not alive, I hope that you were able to leave this life quickly, with angels at your side filling you with courage and love.

I don't understand this. I don't understand any of it. I don't understand why we were chosen for this. I don't understand how anybody in creation could ever feel that they had the right to do this to us.

I am so sorry, Michaela,

I love you, I love you. I love you.


Friday, September 9, 2016

Jacob Wetterling

I'd guess there are not too many people who read my blog who are not aware that Jacob Wetterling, a kidnap victim, was found this past week. He has been abused, he had been killed. His remains had rested in a lonely rural pasture for the past 27 years. 

My heart goes out to Jacob's family. His mom, Patty, has been called an angel, and I would agree with that assessment. She has been beautiful and gracious throughout the search for and loss of her son. She does not know it, but I stand with her, not only in sympathy and compassion, but in awe. It is not an easy thing to remain gracious when there are tigers tearing your heart to shreds, or when there is a wet cement pouring through your limbs, robbing you of all energy and motivation. I have failed time and time and time again.

I have heard a lot of people complain that the man who killed Jacob will go free, with no punishment for his crime. I understand the anger, and yet surprisingly I can't relate to it. What is important is that Jacob has come home. In thinking about this, I realize how little thought I have actually given to the man who kidnapped Michaela. I can't recall spending even a small amount of time hoping to find him and bring him to justice. Every bent of my mind has been always and only been on finding Michaela. I would have approved the same deal that Jacob's family approved, that Jacob's killer will go to prison for 20 years on other charges, but will face none for Jacob in exchange for his confession and providing the location of his remains. We can't ignore the kidnappers. We can't say, let him go free, because we have a responsibility to the other children in the world, to keep them safe. But from the start I went on television and begged the kidnapper, "Please, just drop her off somewhere and go away. We don't care about you. We only want our daughter back." There was nothing else I wanted and no price I wouldn't have paid to get it. Today I would say the same if she was alive. 

I might say the same if she is not alive, just for someone to tell me what happened to her, and where she is. A number of times I have been faced with the possible location of Michaela's remains, and I have thought about her little bones being touched by the sunshine for the first time in years, and it has meant more to me that you might guess, not just in solving the mystery, having a "resolution." In my heart, even if just bones, my little girl had been lying alone, and lonely, for all that time, and I wanted to just throw myself on those little bones and hold them and cry and cry and cry. 

The place where Jacob was found was green, and sheltered by trees. But it was lonely.

But along with being able to bring Jacob home, his parents have had to endure hearing the hard reality of what Jacob endured. This is something I have never been sure I would be able to handle. And yet, how could I not? How could I be such a coward? If my daughter could endure it, I should be able to endure hearing it. How Patty Wetterling's heart must break over and over as she can now hear her son's words playing in her head, from "What did I do wrong?" to "Please take me home." He was cold. He was abused, but what he complained of was the cold. He was shot when his kidnapper panicked because he heard police nearby. 

I don't know how well I would be able to handle this kind of knowledge. I have no idea how it would impact me, because over the years I have become a mystery to myself. I have denied my feelings and buried them deeper and deeper until they turned into an avalanche. The thing is, there is no way out of them. There is no relief. Once you allow them in, allow them to take you, can you ever get yourself back again? It's the black hole. You fall in and end up in another universe, or perhaps even in no universe, in nowhere, as nothing. Sometimes, you wonder if that would be so bad. Sometimes I understand the draw of addiction, of whatever substances might take you somewhere where you don't have to worry, to feel. Although I have not taken this escape, it has had its appeal sometimes.

Well, nonetheless. None the less. It is what it is. We are who we are, and where we are. We have no choice but to be here. There is no courage involved in it. None of us volunteered. I have been here for so long, so long, it seems like I will never be anywhere else. I'm sure it seemed that way to Patty Wetterling as well. We continue to carry the weight of our hope and our fear for our children, but at some point we really stop expecting anything to change. We come to lack the capacity to believe that after all this time our children will actually be found. But look, it can happen. Jacob was kidnapped eleven months after Michaela, so the Wetterlings have been doing this for pretty much as long as I have. But one day they woke up, and against all odds everything changed, and although it was not the answer they wished for, the answer to what happened to their son was given to them. 

It can happen.

Jacob Wetterling, I hope that all the best versions of the afterlife are true and you have been embracing them. To Patty and Jacob's family, God bless you. I love you. My heart is with you.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

I'm lost too

I have been attending therapy. I have been diagnosed with PTSD now by one medical doctor, two therapists, and one psychiatrist, although I tend to disagree. I think it is more like OTSD, ongoing traumatic stress disorder. I mean, there is nothing "post" about it, is there? Not only is Michaela still gone, she is still missing. And while I am ever thankful that her case is still active, that there are people still looking for her, that there are still leads to investigate ... well, perhaps you can imagine the ongoing stress of this. Or perhaps you can't. I myself have a hard time imagining it, and I live it. This perhaps is part of my problem. I find it really difficult to face these things directly. Instead I take an oblique approach. I deny and distract, and that leaves all the "stuff" still there to leak out all over the place.

So I am going to therapy. I have tried this here and there over the years, sat in a chair and talked and talked, but it all just seemed to go in circles Talk doesn't fix this stuff. I'd kind of given up, but I decided to go back because I am having a hard time doing what I need to do in life, or even doing what I want to do. Time just seems to slip away from me, and I can't seem to grasp it, hold it still, make it work for me. I'm not even going to go into the details of what this means in my life. I'll just suffice it to say that it is frightening.

Anyway, I've done a fair amount of talking in therapy this time, but this therapist also does somatic work, including tapping and EMDR. In what we have done, I have closed my eyes and I have sought out the emotions and where they reside in my body and what they are doing. I look to see what comes up in association with the various issues and emotions. That allows some connections to be made that I hadn't otherwise considered, perhaps. Yesterday I was dealing with feelings of guilt and anger. I know I have both of those feelings regarding not only Michaela, but also my mother, who passed away 12 years ago. There are people who like to receive visitations from their loved ones who have passed on, but not me, and that is probably because there are so many negative emotions tied up here. With Michaela, even though I don't feel actual guilt over allowing her to go to the store that morning, I do feel the general, more overpowering and all pervasive guilt of a mother whose child desperately needed her help when she was completely powerless to do anything. Yes, there are a lot of superlatives there. It is absolutely an overwhelmingly superlative feeling. You could never pile together enough words to reach the top of it, or to begin to plumb the depths of it.

And I'm a person who feels a lot of obligation to those I love, which is how I come to have guilt regarding my mother. It's just little things, a day or two here or there that I chose to spend alone rather than with my mother, and because my mother was never one to voice her needs or complaints, just having a general imagining of what those needs might have been that I failed to fulfill.

The anger ... well, I had to acknowledge that I am also a little bit angry at both Michaela and my mother for leaving me. We're talking about my own rotten feelings here, not what's right or even what's real. And, well, I feel that rotten feeling.

The guilt and anger are part of what prevents me from properly entering into and processing the grief, and this is on top of the inability to complete the grieving process with Michaela because I don't know that she is dead. For all I know she could be out there somewhere this minute, alive, possibly suffering terribly, because when she needed help I couldn't help her. I failed her.

Seriously, how can I live with this stuff? What can I do with it?

I thought it was interesting that yesterday while I was following feelings in my therapy session, that at one point I found myself at church. It was my church, the one I belong to and used to attend. I was not in the sanctuary. I was in the hallway on the other side of the building, in between the children's rooms and the bathroom. I thought it was really weird that I should be there. I connected it at the time with my feelings of being unacceptable. This hallway was a place I often visited right after the service ended, because it was where the bathroom was, and also where an occasional class might be held. People tended to congregate there a bit, to gather in groups of friends to chat. There were people there that I knew kind of superficially and I might say hello, who all seemed to have in depth relationships with each other. I didn't, for probably a lot of reasons, but beyond all that was the thought that if those people really knew me they would not accept me. I had too many questions that would not be stilled. I was too much of a political and social liberal for their taste.

But as I got in my car to leave yesterday, another thought came to me. I had been exploring my negative feelings, guilt and anger, and I realized that this was an area where I do actually feel a sense of anger. I left Christianity feeling absolutely betrayed. Although I had ostensibly come to terms with God's place in what happened to Michaela, and what didn't happen to Michaela (as in not being rescued and brought safely home), can I ever really totally get past that? If I can't get past it with myself, a powerless human being, can I actually get past it with God, who is all powerful? All loving? Where is the love? Where where where? Lately I have been feeling overwhelmingly betrayed by that book I used to love so much, the Bible. Where is the love in there? Oh, there are beautiful soaring passages of love, for sure, but there is so much hate, so much anger, so much lashing out by the God portrayed there. I was falling asleep the other day, and I was trying to make contact with this God I don't know anymore, and the essence of what I felt was that a God who created and/or sustained life would feel more tenderness for his creation. He would feel our hurt and confusion and would touch us softly in those places I am just a person, and I recognize that so much of bad behavior comes out of deep pain, and my God would want to put his arms tenderly around that hurt and shed tears with us. And sure, that God is there in the Bible, but the predominant God I see is not that way, The God that actually resides in the pages of the Bible did not advise the parents of a rebellious teen to try to understand his suffering and confusion and take him in their arms and love him. Nope. God said to stone him to death, to completely obliterate any chance for him to heal, to come to understand his own pain so that he could help others with theirs, to become a loving member of his community. I don't like that God. That is not a God that I can follow. Yet that God kept appearing over and over again in the pages of the Bible, and once I saw that I felt just betrayed, like I'd discovered my spouse who I thought was one person turned out to be someone else entirely with another life I knew nothing about.

I have been feeling much like checking out lately. I'm not sure I have the true ability to do that. I mean, I can. I can lie in bed and drift in nowhere. But even when I do that my mind is telling me that there is something I should be doing. Even when I am checked out, along with the weariness there is a restlessness that fills me. Where is that restlessness leading me, what should I be doing? And second, can I get a grip on myself well enough to actually do it if I can figure out what it is?

Maybe you know God better than I do. I know there are people out there who are praying for me. I do appreciate your prayers so much. I appreciate the love, for Michaela, and for me, and for my family.

Michaela, I always hesitate to write things like this. What if you are out there? What if you are reading this? Would I even be strong enough to hold the truth if I were to be given it? I don't know, my sweet child. I don't know. But I love you. I love you I love you I love you. Sometimes you float in my head, an idea, a missing child. But then I feel you in my heart, my flesh and blood child who I love so much, who is a part of my own heart. I feel the joy, the warmth, the promise of a lifetime of happiness, and I am devastated by its theft, astounded that it could have actually all happened. But here I am, Michaela, almost 28 years later. I am still waiting, still longing, still aching to hold you in my arms and feel your heart beating against mine. That is the true medicine my soul needs.

I love you forever, baby girl.

Friday, June 10, 2016

Sinking in the missingness

It has been awhile since I have been here, I know. It has just become so hard to bear anymore. Not you, Michaela. You would never be hard to bear. The other day, I was taking care of your little nephew, my grandson. He is six months old, and six month old babies can be a lot of work. His mom and dad have been busy lately with the theater program they work for, so I have been babysitting. They asked if it would be okay if they went out on a date one evening, or would that be too long to watch him. And you know, I looked in his face, and I thought, how could I ever say it would be too much, too long, to care for him. He is so innocent and helpless, I looked into his face and said, "No, nothing is too much for you. It is never too much time or too much effort to care for this innocent little baby I love so much. It is my privilege."

I feel that way about you, too, Michaela. Wherever you are, whatever you have been through. I could never stop loving you, could never say it's too much. What becomes too much is your missingness. I know that's not a word, but I have just coined it. What becomes too much is my utter helplessness in the face of your missingness. I can't find you. I don't know where to look. I can't make other people do what I think should be done to find you. I cannot help you.

Twenty-seven years, six months, 14 days at this point. All that time of all this helplessness in the face of the worst possible thing that could happen to me, that my child is suffering. And I can't help.

If you are out there, Michaela, and you can help me, please do. Please remove the missingness, remove the questions and the wondering and let me know where you are, and that you are okay. If you can't come home and don't want me to try, that's okay. If you don't want anyone else in the world to know, I won't tell. Tell me our family code word if you remember it. Tell me something only you and I would know. Tell me that you are alive, that you are okay. Tell me if you have children! Leave an anonymous comment here, or email me at

Your missingness doesn't become easier to bear with time. It becomes harder. It reaches the point where I want to put my head under the bed covers and not come out, where I was to exist in the gray lands where I deny my feelings because they are too painful, where I kill of my imagination, because that is the easiest way to make sure it doesn't wander too far down the painful paths. If I can't help you, Michaela, can you please help me?

I love you forever,

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Good God or bad God or no God?

Before I begin this post, I want to state that there are a lot of things I don't know, a lot of questions for which I am still seeking answers. Anybody who has been reading my blogs for any length of time knows that I have struggled with my faith as a Christian. There are many reasons for this. There are some good reasons, and there are some bad reasons.  But there is one thing that is not a cause of my struggles, and that is what happened to Michaela.

Recently I saw a post on Instagram, and on Facebook, about how if God does exist he is a petty tyrant and doesn't care about people or what is going on in the world, and that if he was real, the writer would rather go to hell. What was really disturbing about this was that it was posted by my son. My son who was once training to be a youth pastor. I remember when my little boy grew into a young man, and I would sit a few rows behind him in church. I would see his hands, grown so large to fit his 6'3" frame, raised in worship, and it would literally move me to tears of joy. I watched his spiritual growth with delight for years.

Then came the time of leaving.

I left first. It had been one of the very worst seasons of my life. Jaycee Dugard had been found, and I had so earnestly believed that finding her would mean finding Michaela. When my husband woke me up early that morning to tell me about Jaycee, I leaped up and told him, "We have to get the kitchen painted before Michaela comes home!" That had been followed by over a month of the most intense search for Michaela, as our investigators moved in on the property where Jaycee had been found and literally tore it down looking for any evidence that Michaela had been there, as they brought in search dogs and dug possible gravesites. It had also been physically exhausting, as I spent many days traveling out to the property to watch the efforts of our investigators. The story of Jaycee's recovery was huge, and yet Jaycee was not talking to the media. The media therefore, turned to me, and I was called on to do the early morning New York news/talk shows, and the late evening west coast shows. I'd be picked up at 3:00 in the morning to go to a local studio, often arriving at a building that was closed, locked and dark, and I'd have to find a way in. In the middle I'd travel in the heat of the day to the Antioch property where the investigation was being carried on, and where media camped out. It was all worth it. It is a large part of why Michaela's case is so well known today, 27 years after her kidnapping. But it was completely exhausting. And in the end, it yielded nothing, or at least not what I'd hoped. Having been really convinced for the first time since she'd been kidnapped that I might actually see her alive again, it was a devastating, devastating let down. I fell into the deepest depression of my life. And in the midst of that depression, I woke up one day and said not that I was angry at God, not that he had let me down in some way, not that he had let Michaela down in some way, but rather that suddenly Christianity didn't make any sense. There were some things in the background of my life, like flies that were hard to see but easy to hear buzzing, that added to this fall from faith. But regardless, I fell.

I left church, but my son was still there. At first he was shocked, and asked me questions and gave me answers, which I kind of laughed off. Yet one thing I knew was that I didn't want him to lose his faith. There were times I actually wept over the possibility of my son losing his faith. I remember at the time asking myself why this was. If I honestly thought that Christianity didn't make any sense, if I honestly thought it was wrong, then why on earth would I want my own child to be involved in it? And yet I did, very deep down in my heart. Even as I fell, I recognized this as significant. I recognized this as an indication that perhaps I really did believe.

But my son left, too, about two months after I did. He will swear to you that my leaving church had nothing at all to do with him leaving, but I know that is not true. I know that there were other things at play in his decision, but if I had not put those cracks in the foundation, I think it would have held against those other things.

I have since returned to my faith, dragging along with me a lot of those questions that I accumulated along the way. If I am a wave tossed on the ocean, they are strands of seaweed tied to my ankles. I am kicking and swimming despite that. Will they drag me down again? It is my intention to get to solid enough ground to be able to cut them away. Believe me, I am in search of the truth. There is so much in our world today that gets wrapped up with Christianity that just doesn't belong there. It is a religion, a faith, a state of heart, it is love. It is not politics, and it is a grave mistake to allow what the world has made of Christianity to dilute its true meaning.

The pertinent question is, why did I return to my faith? The answer is, God called me. God calls me, and tugs on my heart, and I resist. Why? Well, that's a completely different subject, which doesn't really fit in this blog entry. But God is difficult to resist when he really wants you, and I melt into his heart. God doesn't just call me, however. He answers me. I have had so many prayers answered. It's funny the way he does it. Sometimes it's just a big, direct answer, but even then it will often take me a minute to recognize: "Oh! Look at that! That is exactly what I prayed for!" So often, though, something will happen in life, and because I am slow on the uptake it may take me a little while to realize its importance, and how it ends answering a prayer of mine in a way I had never imagined. Yes, I'd love to give you examples of all these things, but honestly they involve other people whose privacy I have to respect. It has been more than sufficient for me to believe that God does hear, and does answer my prayers.

That leaves the big question, though, doesn't it? Why didn't God answer my prayers about Michaela? I can't tell you the definitive answer to that right now. One day, when the story has reached its conclusion, I think I probably will be able to, but at this moment, I just don't have the information. I don't even have Michaela's side of it. Did God answer her prayers? I don't know. Just because the prayers were not answered in the exact way I thought they should be does not mean they were ignored. And is there some great, high purpose in it? This morning in my Bible study I happened to be reading the story of Joseph, one of my favorites in the Bible, for obvious reasons. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, who then told his father that he had been killed by wild animals. His father grieved for many years over the loss of Joseph, who had been his favorite son. Meanwhile, Joseph had been highly favored by God and had risen to become the overseer for the entire land of Egypt. Having interpreted Pharaoh's dreams to mean that there would be several years of plenty, followed by several years of famine, Joseph had been put in charge of the land in order to set aside enough food to weather the famine. Joseph's brothers traveled from the land of Canaan to Egypt to buy food for their families, and eventually Joseph revealed to them who he was, and asked them to bring the whole family to live in the land of Goshen so that he could provide for them during the five years of famine yet to come. The evil thing that had befallen Joseph had turned out for good, as he was able to save the lives of many, including his family. Meanwhile, Joseph's father, Jacob, was told that his son was alive, and his heart stood still. I can never read this without it bringing tears of joy to my eyes. Jacob's son, who he thought was dead, was alive, and he went to him, and the Bible says they fell into each other's arms and wept. (Genesis 45-46 if you want to read it yourself.)

What great good could be accomplished by God allowing Michaela to be kidnapped and by not answering my prayers to bring her home? I don't know, any more than Jacob knew in all those years that his "dead" son was living in Egypt, building up stores of grain that would keep Jacob and his family alive during the famine. That I don't know doesn't mean it cannot be true. When I say that God "allowed" Michaela to be kidnapped, please don't confuse that with God "causing" her to be kidnapped. We live in this world, and we co-exist with evil, and all parties possess free will. The Bible tells us that "we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purposes." (Romans 8:28) We know that not all our prayers are going to be answered. There are some things that must be. We all must die, sometime, some way. Because of that we can't all be healed always. We can, however, have faith that death is not the end, that there is something better. I can have that faith for Michaela. I can believe that we will ultimately be reunited, and in the span of eternity our suffering here will become small, but perhaps the good it may have done will become great, even if that good amounts to the touching of just one small, hurting soul, and bringing about healing and reconciliation.

My son concluded that his faith had been based on nothing but "emotions." To that I say, yeah? So? On the basis of "emotions" you believe in another person sufficiently to commit your entire life to them in marriage. On the basis of "emotions" you invest your heart and soul into a child. Through "emotions" you create great art. And if God reaches out and touches you, it will generate "emotions" for sure! It will also generate change in your life. If your faith is weak, God will provide what you need to make it strong. In the end, a lot of our questions are probably dumb and not really questions at all. They are just things we hang onto that would be better left behind. Because of my nature I am still pursuing them, and if I get answers I will share them, either here, or on my other blog, at But in the meantime, just as I have never fully understood how the internet works yet I continue to post blogs on it, I will continue to seek God's will.

To those who doubt, just look at the night sky. Does it go on forever? And ever? And ever? How can that be? How can that not be? Think about time, this moment you are in, with moments stretching out before and after, endlessly. Our minds cannot begin to comprehend these things, which must be so. Look at all that exists and wonder, how could this all have come from abso-frickin-lutely nothing? All our questions about the existence of God pale in comparison to the questions that must be asked about existence itself, period. Just be willing to ask the questions, and then be willing to hear the answers. I would include my son in this challenge. Don't assume you know things you don't know, even if they are questions. Our brains are limited. Our hearts are infinite.

Michaela, when you were a child I told you that if ever you needed help and I was not there to help you, you should ask God, and he would help you. My greatest desire is to one day hear how he did that.

I love you forever, baby girl. I feel in this moment the first time I held you in my arms, and I feel the next time I will hold you in my arms. God bless you, my love. If you are still here on this earth, remember that God has never stopped loving you, and neither have I.



I just saw the movie Room. If you haven't seen it, you should. It is a beautiful movie. The little boy in it was excellent, and reminded me so much of my granddaughter Shylah I had to love him.

But of course, it made me sad in a way that was beyond thought. It made me realize that there are so very many possible reasons to be sad that I haven't even considered.

It's funny, because lately I have been missing my imagination. I got a drawing pad, pencils and chalk pastels, but I haven't touched them because all I can see is the blank page, and I can't think of what to put on it. In my writing, I have to fight against rushing through, instead of stopping to dwell on the details, where the heart lives. But tonight I realized, of course my imagination has packed its bags and run away. Not knowing what happened to my daughter leaves too many possibilities open, too many things I cannot begin to entertain because they are too horrible. Not having the answers, any answers, all the possibilities wander around the edges of my consciousness. I cannot allow myself to imagine them, so I turn off my imagination as protection.

I am amazed at how much of a mess I am. It has been over 27 years, but in all this time, there has been no healing, at least in part because there is no resolution. It keeps happening, it keeps piling on and on, it never ends. It has robbed me of so much. It has robbed me of my daughter, my first child, but it has robbed me of pieces of myself along the way as well.

Still, I have lost nothing in comparison to what Michaela has lost. The movie tonight reiterated some of those themes I have heard about before, the feeling that the victim had of being unworthy. So I just want to say, again, for the thousandth time, that there is nothing at all that could ever change my love for you, Michaela. I love you. I know you. I know your heart and soul, and I have nothing but respect for you, no matter what may have happened. This is a safe place for you. If you are still alive out there, please contact me. I just want to hold you in my arms.

I love you forever, baby girl. I like you for always. For always and forever. No matter what.