Series of Letters. Letter 20

Letter number 20 is a heartbreaking letter written by a mother to her missing daughter. As of today she is still missing. The letter is written by the writer of the blog Americana Injustica.

2014 Letters to a Ghost.

I awoke this morning, chilled by the residual sweat of a nightmare…saturated by a deepened fear for your safety; trapped within the confines of a place I’ve long-anticipated on a sub-conscious level that’s only obvious to me now that I’m here. I don’t know how many New Years I’ve spent uneasy over you – over what’s happened to you in your life that’s molded you into someone so hollow – so empty myself, as a result of such emptiness. Today, New Year’s Day 2014, I awoke cursing the succession of time and the science of space; I woke up fearing the year ahead’s events as much as I had gone to sleep hating those of last year. I predict a lot of me, in fear for your very livelihood from one day to the next; I foresee plenty of hopeless nights defined by worry and dread – the growing anxiety being attached to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I predict myself desperately burying my heels into the increasingly fickle ball of hope that has lost its warmth and begun to fizzle. After our tearful and emotionally turbulent Thanksgiving, I had no lingering doubts about your plans to run again if you pulled off a visit home for Christmas, and I knew that you had zero intentions of ever going back there, if you ran.

I was, and am now – still somehow hoping beyond hope that you will be miraculously struck by a bolt of reason and reconsider; your naivety terrifies me. Anybody who knows me at all knows exactly what it is that eats me up inside with every moment that goes by without you accounted for: FEAR. I innately brood over your well-being with every single breath that I take; I make offerings to the dimming ball of hope in my heart that you’ll ever come home again. I can’t help but to share with you, how very grim and unwelcome the year ahead feels to me today, without your presence to light the dark paths shooting out in every direction from my tired feet. I hope from the bottom of my being – that wherever you are on this New Year’s Day, you’re safe and warm with food in your belly and shiny nail polish on your fingertips, that you’re smile is busy in blessing the crowd that surrounds you with its unmatched brightness – I hope that you’re not afraid anymore, that you been empowered and feel strong in the place that you’ve chosen to run away to. I hope that somehow, some way – for this year ahead, more than anything else – I hope you know that I love you, Boo…that’s one thing that’s always renewed by hope and stays unchanged forever. I’m so very worried about you; I hope you come home soon.

Love Always,

12 thoughts on “Series of Letters. Letter 20

  1. A few years ago I did an interview with John Walsh, the father of Adam, of the show called Real Life. While John and I sat before the audience waiting for the cue to begin, I gave him a smooth, round stone. He looked at me and I told him that once you lose a child, it’s like having a rock in your shoe for the rest of your life.

    It is true, you can never get over losing a child, no matter how it happens: Death to violence or illness, child welfare, kidnapping, runaway, etc. The parent who experiences the loss cannot stop grieving; they are in a perpetual mode of sadness and dashed hopes.

    John Walsh understood perfectly. As does this mom.

  2. Wow. I can feel your anguish. I will hope and pray for you that your daughter realizes the love that is there for her. Big hug

  3. I experienced a runaway daughter. It went on for many years–never knowing. It is definitely a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’m so very sorry you have this to deal with. My best wishes for you.

  4. I can’t pretend to have a clue to how horrific this feeling is. I can relate to the fear of it happening to my child. But not to it being reality. I’m so very sorry. I hope for you both.

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