Gone But Not forgotten

A thousand words will never bring you home

I know because I have tried . . .

A thousand tears will never bring you home

I know because I have cried . . .

Prologue

A little boy with his small face pressed up against the window

overlooking the deck outside into the backyard. As he looked around,

he wondered, Where were all the decorations? No cake? No presents?

Absolutely nothing. He felt awash with an overwhelming sadness.

Everything that had led up to this day no longer mattered. Today, you see,

was no ordinary day.

Today was Timothy Peterson’s sixth birthday. It was a special age

for him as he was no longer a “little kid.” He was six, and it meant no more

preschool. He was going to start “big kid” school. But nothing mattered to

him at the moment because in his little mind, everyone had forgotten. Or

maybe they just didn’t care. With these somber thoughts running through

his mind, he hung his head down low. And with his shoulders slumped, he

climbed the stairs to his room and put his favorite things in his backpack

(the one he was supposed to use for school) and walked out the back door

and disappeared.

We looked for Timmy. Oh my god . . . miscommunication. Doug

was supposed to take him this morning, or so Faye thought. Faye was

supposed to take him, or so Doug thought. How could this happen? His x

presents remained unopened, and soon a little six-year-old boy’s birthday

party was forgotten. The panic set in, and the police were called. It was

supposed to be a surprise party, but now there was no happiness, just fear

and unspoken dread.

Chapter 1 Faye's Story

What a beautiful day, Faye thought as she went about her business

of making coffee and refreshments for all the mothers of the children that

had attended Cassie’s birthday party. As usual though, Faye’s mind would

wander to a forgotten time. She would think back on a little boy’s forgotten

birthday that never happened. She thought to herself how different things

would have been if only she had never left him alone that dreaded morning

or if only Doug had taken him like he was supposed to. It was a bitter pill

she swallowed every time something reminded her of that fateful day.

In Faye’s mind, Timmy had been taken. There was no other

explanation, at least none that she could accept. In her heart, she knew that

someday her son Timothy would walk through her front door. Her family

would be complete, and it would be as if that terrible day almost eight years

ago had never taken place. She smiled to herself when she imagined how

handsome her son would be. He would be a man now, not the cute little boy

with tousled blond hair and freckles.

The only way that Faye could deal with losing her baby boy was to

imagine that some sweet, barren couple had taken him out of desperation.

She imagined that although what they did was a crime, she knew that

they loved him as if he were their very own. If Faye ever let herself

believe anything differently or if someone said something different, she

would scream hysterically and burst into tears. It would take Doug hours,

sometimes days, to console her. She had to believe he was happy and alive;

she just had to. As she rubbed the scars on her wrists, Faye thought that to

think otherwise was just not good.

In her own little world, Faye relived that time over and over. There

were more nights than not that she awoke with hot tears streaming down

her face. The first few months after her son was taken were pretty much

a hazy blur. She could remember bits and pieces of that time but not

much else. She could recall all the questions from the police; she even

remembered the manhunt and the search parties. She remembered all the

people in and out of her house touching Timmy’s things. This in and out

itself felt wrong, an invasion of privacy in her mind.

She kept silent though and let them do what she knew must be

done. Self-blame was bad enough so when the police and others blamed

Faye and Doug. “Who leaves their six-year-old son home all alone?” It was

a very difficult concept . . . who’s to blame? Was it her fault? Was it Doug’s?

Was it fate? God’s cruel trick? They say what doesn’t kill you makes you

stronger. This had definitely put that theory to the test. “Blame whomever

you want,” Faye told them. “Do what you must. Just find my son . . . please

bring Timmy home.”

When the blame game was finally over, the questions from the

police began. First, they drilled Faye for what seemed like days. Next

was Doug. When they were finally convinced that the parents had made

a mistake and had not purposely harmed their son, then and only then did

the search began—the noise, the dogs, the phone ringing nonstop with 3

alleged sightings. It was too much, and one day, Faye had enough. It was

just overwhelming, so she decided to steal a few moments to collect her

thoughts. She couldn’t do Timmy any good if she couldn’t hear herself

think. She stole away up to the bathroom to take a long, hot bath and waited

for the sleeping pills that Dr. Mills had prescribed to take effect.

Before she even realized what she was doing, it was done. She

went from brushing her hair to shaving it all off. In her mind, it was okay.

With everything going on, she had not had time to properly fix her hair;

this was much easier. The more she shaved, the calmer she became. Then

a thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Just maybe if she hurt herself,

the couple that had taken her son would sense it and feel bad and return him

to her and Doug. Maybe they would realize what a terrible mistake they

had made . . . just maybe. Before she could stop herself, she slid into the

warm bathwater and felt the release of the blade sliding across her wrists.

Peace. It was okay . . . quiet . . . it was okay . . .

By the time Doug found her, Faye was delirious and slipping in

and out of consciousness. Her lips were turning blue, and her skin was an

ashen color. Doug was looking for her, and when he opened the bathroom

door, his legs gave out on him. What he saw drained all the blood from

his face and made him physically ill. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was

looking at; there was hair strewn all over the bathroom sink and the floor.

It was as if he was in a horrible dream.

Finally, when the shock wore off, he realized that there in the

bathtub was his beautiful wife, lying in what he could only describe as

deep-red wine. As he knelt by the bathtub and gingerly scooped her out of

the water and cradled her to him, Faye looked up at him; and though her

voice was not more than a whisper at this point, she calmly said, “Don’t

worry, sweetheart, you’ll see . . . now they’ll bring our little boy home to

us, they know . . .” With that, a weak smile played across her lips, and Faye

was gone.

Chapter 2

When I woke up, I was extremely disoriented. At first, I looked

around frantically, having no idea where I was. When my eyes adjusted

and I took in the sterile surroundings, I realized I was in a hospital, and my

first thoughts went to Timmy. What on earth was going on? Did they find

Timmy? I tried to sit up; I had to know, but I couldn’t move.

“What’s going on? Why can’t I sit up? Why am I in a hospital bed?

I can’t move.” I turned my head and saw the nurse at the foot of my bed and

asked why I was there. It was then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed

Doug. He was leaning against the sill, staring aimlessly out of the window.

He looked worn-out, and the furrows in his brow looked almost painful.

His clothes were all disheveled.

Why does he look so worried? It must be Timmy, I thought. Why

isn’t anyone talking to me? What’s going on? Where is my son? I tried to

speak. I tried to voice my fears. Why couldn’t I speak? Oh god, that pesky

nurse is still by the foot of the bed. W-wait a minute, what is she saying?

“Mrs. Peterson, oh good, there you are, back with us. We almost

thought we’d lost you. Don’t try to speak right now. We have given you a 6

slight sedative so that you wouldn’t be agitated when you woke up. If there

is anything I can get for you later, don’t hesitate to ask. There will be a

nurse present at all times.” With that, she smiled and walked to the edge

of the room and sat down, looking over her chart.

I tried to speak to Doug, Doug, Doug, what’s going on? Why am I

here? Doug, Doug . . . what happened . . . hard as I try, I can’t remember,

and nothing is making any sense. All that came out was a weak moan. Doug

didn’t move; he couldn’t hear me. Maybe, I thought, the words were just in

my head. A doctor—finally, someone that knows what’s going on. I was

very happy to see Dr. Mills walk into my room. I tried to ask—where was

he going? I’m here, I tried to say. His focus was not on me. He was acting

as if I was invisible. Confusion washed over me. Everyone was talking

about me. Am I here? Am I dreaming? I’ll try to get his attention. It was

then I realized that I couldn’t move my arms and I couldn’t sit up. Why? I

was in restraints. I’m so confused. I mouthed the words, but nothing came

out. They then put the syringe into my IV. Everything again went dark,

and the peace once again washed over me.

In my dreams, I was always with Timmy. His smile and giggles

were infectious. Such a happy little boy. Not a care in the world. He was

so excited to start school in a few months. We made such plans. He made

me promise that I would be one of those moms that attended every field

trip—this was one promise that I intended to keep. I wanted to be that

mom. He diligently studied all his numbers and letters. I think he was

harder on himself than anyone else was. He was so excited to go to school.

Every day he’d ask, “Is it time yet? Is school starting yet?”

He was a perfectionist, like his father. I saw so much of Doug

in Timmy—the way they walked, the things they said. Even when they

watched TV together, they both had pillows nestled in their laps, and each

had a slight head slant. You wouldn’t notice it unless you really knew them. 7

It was quite funny, the simple things you notice when you love someone.

If ever there was a “mini me,” it was Timmy.

He had such a wonderful life ahead of him. It was amazing to see

the world through my son’s eyes. My dreams were a happy place I hated

to wake up; reality came crashing in much too quickly. Timmy was gone.

Chapter 3 Doug’s Story

“Faye . . . Faye, where are you? We got a good lead on Timmy

to—oh my god! Mom, Mom, call 911 . . . hurry! It’s Faye . . . sh-she . . . oh

my god, Mom, just call 911! Oh, Faye, honey, what have you done? Why

didn’t you talk to me? You seemed to finally be coming to terms with the

possibility that Timmy might not come home. At least I thought you did.

Hold on a second, honey. What, Mom? Send them up . . . huh? What? Faye,

did you say something?”

I almost dropped her when she peacefully uttered those words.

What did she mean “they’ll bring our boy home now?” I couldn’t lose

Faye, not after losing Timmy. To walk into the bathroom and see my wife’s

beautiful, limp body lying almost lifelessly in a tub of dark-red blood and

see her gorgeous blond curls carelessly strewn all over the sink and the

floor, Faye was always so meticulous, I just couldn’t believe what I was

seeing. My legs gave out on me as I slid down the side of the tub. All I could

think was “oh my god, my entire family, my reason for living, was gone.”

First, Timmy and now my beautiful Faye was . . . wait . . . Faye is alive!10

At the hospital, they put her on suicide watch. Dr. Mills was

explaining to me how close we came to losing her. He said not to worry

about outward appearances. Her hair would grow back, and while there

would be scars, her wrists would heal. It was her mental state that we need

to worry about. People that try once and don’t succeed usually try again.

In these circumstances, they would have to be extra diligent.

“I’ll talk to her when she wakes up and assess her then,” Dr. Mills

said. “Once we’ve determined her state of mind, we will know better how

to treat her.” Dr. Mills continued to talk something about a twenty-four-hour nurse blah, blah, blah. All I could do was look at my sleeping wife;

she looked so peaceful now. I wondered how in the world we ever ended up

here. My beautiful Faye lying in the hospital bed—she looked so fragile,

and I let her down. It was my responsibility to take care of her and keep

her safe. I have failed her miserably. I wasn’t there when she needed me

the most. This would never happen again. Whatever Faye needs, I would

be there and I would do it. Never again!

Chapter 4

I closed my eyes and remembered a time when we were very happy,

a time when we didn’t have a care in the world. We were newlyweds—me

struggling through my last year of medical school and Faye . . . ah, beautiful

Faye. She was the prettiest little candy striper I had ever seen. She had long

blond hair, dimples, and the prettiest blue eyes. The first time I saw her,

I felt it; I just knew that she would become the most important person in

my life. I felt such a fierce need to shelter and protect this delicate flower.

Whenever I saw some other guy giving her attention, I felt a

jealousy such as I had never felt before. But I knew when she smiled at

me, it was okay. I was her guy, her one and only, and no one would ever

come between us. I knew she would mother my children. I knew she was

my soul mate. And without a doubt, I knew that for the rest of our lives,

there would never be anyone else for me. This was the woman that would

make the bad times bearable, the good times the best, and all the times in

between just as memorable. We could go out; we could stay in. As long as

we were together, it just didn’t matter.

We had a whirlwind courtship, and we married within the first

year. And even through all the heartache, I had never once regretted my 12

decision. Everything I had become and everything I had done had been for

Faye and then for Timmy. I never thought that two people that had so much

love for each other would or could share so much tragedy. My beautiful

little boy who somehow had been snatched out of my aching arms. You

never really know what love is until you hold your child in your arms for the

first time. Now there was a hole in my heart that I didn’t know how to heal.

Faye had a difficult pregnancy, but she never complained. We were

so worried; Faye was so careful. She took excellent care of herself. Through

all her discomfort, she never looked so beautiful to me as she did then. She

was so excited to become a mother. She read so many books on pregnancy;

she played classical music and laid the headphones on her growing belly.

When she felt the baby kick for the first time, she called everyone

we knew. Although it was rough and she was sick more than not, it was the

most precious time we ever experienced. It brought us so close. I thought

about her carrying my child, and I would swell with such pride and more

love than I knew I could possess.

And then when Timmy was born, he was perfect. I felt like the king

lion; pride and protection and love took over my every waking thought. I

think I called her at least a hundred times per day. I wanted to know every

little move that Timmy made. I had to work, and being away from my little

family was the most difficult thing I had ever had to experience, at least

that was what I thought. I was never so determined to take care of and

provide for my family.

We had the perfect life. Timmy would want for nothing, but we would

make sure that he was kind and loving. He would grow up and appreciate

everything he received. But most of all, Timmy would never doubt the love

that Faye and I had for him. I had such plans for him. Faye and I grew together

with so much love for our little family. Our life was perfect. Your children are 13

the best part of each of you rolled into one person. With that in mind, Timmy

would make a difference in so many people’s lives no matter what he did.

There was another very important person in Timmy’s life that

made a huge impact on him. That person was my mother. This was the

woman who was always so stern with me growing up. Dad died when I

was very young, so it was just my mom and myself. She had to be both a

mother and a father. I never realized what responsibility was until we had

Timmy. As a parent, you have the job of shaping your children into the

adults that they are to become. She was tough, but she was my best friend.

When I had a bad day, she knew, and a comforting squeeze on my shoulder

told me everything I needed to know without ever a word being uttered.

Mom worked two jobs but never missed any important event in

my life—ball games, proms, award ceremonies, and anything else that I

needed her to attend. We never had much money, but we had a lot of love.

Having to be both a mom and a dad though, she was hard on me. She

wanted me to be the best person I could possibly be. Mom went through

cancer and worked two jobs and went to school. She came from nothing and

made something of herself. With that in mind, if there was a major issue,

she was always in my corner. But there was no feeling sorry for myself,

and a “can’t do” attitude was a big no-no.

Her philosophy was simple: “when you are at your weakest point

and feel like you can’t go on, that is when your inner strength emerges,

and you find out exactly what you are made of.” I was always in awe of

my mom and very proud of her. She made me want to push myself to meet

and surpass each and every goal I set for myself. Hard yet soft, loving yet

stern. She was my rock; she was my knight in shining armor. She was my

best friend until Faye.

When Timmy came along, I saw such a change in my mom. She

opened up to this little boy. She loved him with every breath in her body. 14

They went everywhere together. Believe me when I say the feelings were

mutual. When Timmy saw his Oma, his little face lit up like a Christmas

tree. It was amazing to watch. Timmy loved his Oma; she was his best

friend. They would whisper and giggle, and no one but the two of them

would have known or had a clue what the joke was about.

The day Timmy disappeared, I saw a light go out in Mom’s eyes. It

was like looking back into the past to the day Dad passed away. Oh, at first,

Mom thought like everyone else did—that Timmy was taken. Somehow,

she believed we would get him back. A possible ransom note? He wandered

off? No one thought for one minute that he was just gone, never to return.

Surely not, right? Slowly, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into

months, Mom knew, deep in her heart she knew, Timmy was gone.

Now she and Faye hardly spoke. Mom was a realist, and in her

mind, Faye needed to accept the fact that our sweet boy was somehow

dead. If he were alive, he would have found a way to come back home to us.

Me? Well, I was just numb. I threw myself into my work. I guess

in the recesses of my mind, I thought every time I saved a life, some

other doctor somewhere might be doing the same for my son. Or maybe

the reason, the real reason, was that I couldn’t bear to go home and put

on the façade for Faye’s sake that Timmy was alive and was going to

come home any day. How could I tell her that deep down in the pit of my

stomach, I knew something was terribly wrong. How could I look in those

beautiful, desperate, searching blue eyes and tell her that our son was

dead and would never return? I couldn’t do it; I plastered a fake smile on

my face and pretended. When I couldn’t pretend, I threw myself into my

work. Somehow, cutting people open and sewing them up had become my

sanctuary

I’ ll see you someday, thinks a mother to her son

In the future not so near, she sighs with a tear

Until then, my sweet child, I will always love you

From here

A place in my heart where we are never apart . .

Chapter 5 The Homecoming

After a few months in the hospital and then almost seven months

at Meadow Land Psychiatric Clinic (one of the best in the country), we

brought Faye home. She was quiet and withdrawn. She had lost a lot of

weight. When she looked at you, she always had a faraway look now. She

reminded me of one of those abused animals that forgot how to trust. She

was a shell of the woman she had been. She was in total denial, and we were

told that it was her mind’s way of protecting her from the pain.

So at first, we were told to play along and that eventually, when

she was mentally strong enough, her mind would let her accept the whole

ugly, painful truth. Until then though, the fantasy lived that someday,

Faye would hold her young son in her arms and that she would once again

rock her baby to sleep in her arms until he drifted off. So we played along.

My mom moved in so that there was always someone at home with Faye,

in case reality came crashing in and she couldn’t deal with it. I wanted

someone there to hold her and let her know that we could and would survive

this terrible time. What about me, you ask? Like I said, I had thrown myself

into my work. If someone couldn’t come in, I took the shift. Holidays, I was

there too. I worked as much as I possibly could, and when I had to go

home, I played Faye’s game the rest of the time. That was how my life went

—the calm before the storm.

Time stood still in our house. It was no longer a home; it was just

a constant reminder of what once was. Faye never let us move to a new

house because she was afraid that when Timmy was able to, he wouldn’t

know where to go. We received so many crank calls and people wanting to

know how we could leave our son at home alone. People were very hurtful

and rude. But even the ones that had the best intentions were a nuisance.

I believe in God, just like the next person, but it was very hard to

even try to put something like this behind us and have some type of life

when everyone was constantly dredging it up. I didn’t want to forget my

son; it was just sometimes, I resented his memory. It hurt too damn much,

and I was never allowed to put him to rest. Faye talked about him as if he

were just at school and would be home any minute.

At first, when she set the table for meals, there was always a

place setting for Timmy. It got to the point where Faye ate alone with her

memories, and Mom and I ate elsewhere with our nightmares. There was

more. Faye insisted that we not change our phone number because she had

made sure that Timothy knew his address and phone number (in case he

ever got lost.) So if we changed either, he would not have any idea how to

contact us if the chance ever arose.

It was like walking on eggshells and hoping that none of them

would break. It felt as if our life was at a standstill; we were living in Faye’s

make-believe world. I didn’t know how long I could do this. Hell, I didn’t

know much of anything anymore. Faye had a delicate grasp on reality, so

we were all very careful in what we said or did around her.

Chapter 6 Edna’s Story

I love my son. When he was very young, his father passed away, so

it was always just him and me. I was hard on him, but that was only so that

he would be the best man he could. We didn’t have a lot of money when he

was young. I worked two jobs to help make ends meet. We had trials and

tribulations that we went through—money, health issues . . . I don’t like

to dredge up the past; Lord knows we live it every day now with the Faye

situation. Suffice to say, there were struggles, but we lived modestly. Doug

and I made it through. I do love Faye. When Doug brought her home for

the first time, I knew he was smitten. I had not seen him that happy in a

very long time. Although I thought they were rushing into it, they married

quickly. I knew that theirs was a love that would last a lifetime. Faye and

Doug would be married until the time came that they just weren’t anymore.

They would be together until death did them part. When people saw them

together, they couldn’t help but smile. She brought out the boy in him, and

he brought out the best in her. A match made in heaven, I couldn’t have

chosen better for him had I had the choice. Shortly after their honeymoon,

they told me the news: Faye was expecting. Oh my, I had just gotten used

to having a daughter, and now I was going to be an Oma. Wow, life was

about to change. Not mine but definitely Doug and Faye’s for sure.

Was I ever wrong! On the day my beautiful grandson was born,

it was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He melted my heart with

every little smile; his tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb. All I wanted

to do was protect him from anything and everything that might ever

hurt him. We were more than grandson and grandmother; we were best

friends. We went everywhere together. We did everything together; we

were inseparable. I made sure to see or talk to him every day.

I was there when Timmy rolled over, sat up, and ate solid food for

the first time. His first tooth is in my jewelry box. When we cut his hair

for the first time, it was Oma who held his hand. With his chubby little

legs, it was Oma he wobbled over to. We visited the park and fed the ducks

daily and played in the rain puddles. Every night, it was Oma who read his

good-night story either in person or over the phone.

But then my world came crashing down. I had just spoken to him that

morning. I wanted so much to tell him that I hadn’t forgotten his

“big boy birthday.” He and I went wish shopping, and he had picked out a

bicycle. He had so many questions about the bicycle. He was so inquisitive

and so smart. My boy would go far in his life! Oma would make sure of

that. Christmases were special for us. I would go pick him up, and we

would drive around the neighborhoods and gawk and ooh and ah at all

the decorated houses and yards.

As is our family tradition, we stopped and got hot chocolate with

marshmallows to drink while we had our adventure. I knew that when he

got older and had a family of his own, he would do the same with his

children. Money isn’t everything; making memories for and with the ones

you love makes life worth living.

The day that Timmy disappeared, I felt as if my life was over. I

was sure I was the last person he spoke with. When I talked to him, I had

a feeling that something was wrong with him. I wish I had questioned him

more. Maybe it would have made a difference. Were the kidnappers there

with him? Was that why he sounded so funny and distraught? I would

never know, but I should have known.

I knew something was wrong; I should have listened to my sixth

sense and headed to the house. I should have asked to speak to Faye or

Doug. It seemed kind of strange to me that Timmy answered the phone.

There were so many things I could have done but didn’t do. Maybe it would

have made a difference. Blame is a funny thing. We had been planning

his surprise birthday for months, and in the back of my car, I had a shiny

blue bicycle with a helmet and kneepads and the works. I pictured Timmy

learning to ride his new bike. What do I do with it now? I couldn’t make

myself give it away. Where are you, Timmy?

When Faye went into the hospital, my heart broke for her. There

was nothing I could do to help her. I always thought that it was an

unnatural state of affairs for a parent to lose a child. How do you fill that

void? I don’t think I could have survived losing my son. I was grieving

myself, and here was Faye, being needy. And it made me angry with her.

Right or wrong, I thought she should be strong. Doug needed her to be

strong, not fall apart. He was going through enough, and now this. But I

think I was the angriest because like Doug, my life would end too if we had

lost Faye. She was being weak, and I needed to know that she was strong

and able to cope not only for my sake but for Doug’s sake as well.

Prior to Faye becoming pregnant with our Timmy, she had lost a

baby. She was almost in the third trimester, so she could already feel the

baby kick and move around. We had thrown her a baby shower, so she and

I had the nursery decorated. It was ready and waiting. One night, there

had been a horrible storm, and we lost all the electricity. On this fateful

night, Faye was going down the stairs. One of the windows blew open, and

whoosh, out went the candle she was holding. Her nightgown got wrapped

around her legs, and down she went. The fall down the stairs was bad, but

when she hit the ceramic-tiled landing, she ended up with a concussion

and she also lost the baby.

It was horrible; she didn’t lose the baby right away. It actually

took a few days for the terrible ordeal to transpire. You see, because of the

concussion, Dr. Mills insisted on keeping Faye overnight at the hospital.

We were relieved because that way, the baby could also be monitored. All

seemed okay. Naturally, when Faye came home, she was in quite a bit of

discomfort. We all assumed the pain was from the fall; we believed that

until the cramping and bleeding started. Dr. Mills ended up having to

perform a partial-birth abortion. The baby had expired, and we did not

want infection to set in.

We lost our baby girl. Dr. Mills assured us that Faye was healthy

and would be able to bear more children. When Dr. Mills delivered her,

she was so tiny but oh so beautiful. We christened her Catherine and had

a small service and burial for her. Poor Faye, it was times like these that I

know how much she wished her mother was still alive. I love Faye; she was

the daughter I had never had. I know had her mother been here, she would

have been able to cope with the situation much better. I feel that in certain

circumstances, and I don’t care what they are, separating a child or

children from their mother makes coping with difficult times that much

tougher.

Since Faye was a loner and didn’t have many friends, it was up to Doug

and myself to see her through this while coping with the loss ourselves.

Doug and I were the only family that Faye had.

That little girl, our Catherine, was going to mean the world to her.

It wasn’t meant to be. So while the funeral was going on, I had someone go

over to Doug and Faye’s home and pack up all of little Catherine’s clothes

and belongings and take them to Goodwill or somewhere like that. After

that, Catherine’s name was never mentioned again, at least never in Faye’s

presence. She was such a delicate person, and Doug fretted over her so.

Faye always blamed herself for what happened to Catherine. Just as now,

she blamed herself for Timmy. By all accounts, I feel we were all to blame

for what happened to Timmy. Still to this day though, we had no idea what

happened.

I do know that Timmy and I had such a close bond that whenever

I go over to Doug and Faye’s house, I feel his presence. It was almost like

he was there or very, very close by. Sometimes, the feeling was so strong

I feel a shudder run up and down my spine. If I close my eyes, I could feel

Timmy’s small hand in mine. If I turn around, I could swear he would be

there. “Oma, Oma, come see what I did!” I could almost feel him tugging

on my shirt. Of course, he never was there. Wishful thinking on my part,

I guess. On other occasions, I swear I could hear him calling out to me.

There were days that I couldn’t stand being there. But I am drawn to the

house; Timmy is there if only in spirit. I know he is.

After we brought Faye home from Meadow Hills, Doug asked

me to move in with them. While Faye was away, I practically lived there

anyway. I watched my son go from happy to morose. Right before my

eyes, he aged at least ten years. No smiles, no laughter; it was as if we were

just going through the motions. Doug was like a robot—get up, go to the

hospital, then come home. He ate his meals in silence, and half the time,

I don’t think he even knew what he was eating. Nothing really mattered

to him. The weekends were the worst; those were the days he didn’t have

any excuse to go to work. So he had to put a fake smile on his face and

live in Faye’s fantasy world. It was not really living, just surviving, biding

time really.

I worry about both Faye and Doug. My son was strong, but even

the strong could only take so much. When he walks in from work and

finds Faye straightening up Timmy’s room, it breaks his heart. Or other

times, she comes home from a shopping spree and has new items for

Timmy because in her mind, he had outgrown all his clothes. Doug feigns

enthusiasm as Faye’s eyes sparkle when she shows him the new clothes or

shoes or whatever it was. Poor thing, he tried so hard to share her hope.

Inside though, he just wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.

Could she not see what she was doing? Faye was living in a bubble, and

eventually, it would burst.

I still wonder if we were doing the right thing. Shouldn’t she face

it and then let the healing begin? There had been so many times that I just

want to shake her and make her wake up, but as of yet, she was living in

an imaginary world. Holidays were the worst by far. For Christmas, Faye

planned a big dinner and bought all kinds of presents for me and for Doug

and just as many for Timmy. It never failed though. Every year, when all

the celebrating was done and the only presents left under the tree were

Timmy’s, for a brief moment, reality would hit Faye, and she would run

upstairs and lock herself in her room and cry for hours.

Poor Doug would take the tree down and just sit and stare at the

fire and never say a word. Something had to change; I was not sure what,

but I did know that this couldn’t go on indefinitely. I decided that when I

took Faye for her next evaluation, I was going to sit down with the doctors

and make them tell Faye the truth. The evaluations started out once a

week. It was hard for Faye, but she did it. Soon though, they went to the

doctor once a month.

I think sometimes the doctors fix the symptoms and never face

the problems that cause them. We have to be able to weather the storm

when we still have the strength to do it. Yes, I felt a kind of peace. Faye’s

next appointment would be the awakening that she needed. It would be the

healing that we have all put on hold. It wouldn’t be what we planned, but

it would be a new beginning. A new kind of normal awaited us all. But as

usual, things changed.

Chapter 7 A Surprise

There was joy in our house again. Could it be? Faye was beaming

from ear to ear. “Edna, call Doug. He needs to come home immediately!

I need him home now!” Confused, I asked her as I dialed Doug’s number,

“What’s going on, child?” When she told me, I dropped onto the couch in

shock and disbelief. Could this be real? When Doug answered in a shaky

voice, I could barely get the words out, “C-come home, son. Come home

now.” I could still hear Doug’s voice in the phone as it slid out of my hand

and onto the floor. I could hear his frantic words, “Mom, Mom, what’s

wrong? Is it Faye?” I just sat there in shock and disbelief, unable to move.

The phone went dead, and I knew he was on his way. “Stay safe, my son . . .

just come home,” I mouthed into the dead air.

Doug jumped into the car. Although he flew home, the drive

seemed to take forever. So many thoughts were racing through his head.

Did she try it again? Is she all right? If she had tried to end her life, why

did Mom call me? He started to get angry as he pulled into the driveway

and threw open the door, and the look of fear and worry on his face was

just too much. Soon his fear turned to confusion. Faye was in the kitchen,

flitting around and singing. I was still sitting on the couch in disbelief.

Doug just stood in the middle of the living room, looking around. Finally,

he found his voice, “Will someone please tell me what is going on? Please,

Mom? Faye?” I just pointed to the kitchen, and Doug made his way there.

Doug entered the kitchen, and Faye was beaming. “Doug, we are

having a baby!” Doug found the nearest chair and fell into it. “Are you

sure? How? When?” Faye proceeded to tell him that she was a little over

three months along. Doug could hear her talking, but he was lost in his own

thoughts. All he kept hearing was “we’re having a baby.” Then it finally

registered. “Oh my god! We’re having a baby!” Oh, wow, there were a

million questions running through my head. Maybe, just maybe, we were

meant for happiness after all.

The joy was short-lived. Once again, there were complications, and

our happiness was over before it began. Preeclampsia was what they said.

It was kind of a blur, and after that, I just kind of gave up. It was as if our

family was cursed. At least this time, it happened quickly. We christened

this child Brandon. Yes, it was a little boy. It had been too soon to see any

real features, but he was ours, and he was loved. Faye seemed to go numb

after Brandon died. She sat in her grandmother’s old rocker in the baby’s

room for what seemed like hours every day and softly sang as she looked

out the window. She clutched the new teddy bear, and she imagined many

times giving it to our child to soothe his cries.

Doug

An empty, aching feeling overtook me. I never showed it; I had to

be strong for Faye and Mom. But I felt it. I worried about Faye; she seemed

to retreat inside herself. She never mentioned the baby. As a matter of fact,

she never talked much at all these days; she simply rocked and sang and

stared out into space as tears made their way down her beautiful porcelain

face. I wondered if this time, if she tried to end her pain, would I stop her

or let her go? Would I keep her here for me or let her be with our children?

That was a stupid thought, and I quickly dismissed it from my mind.

Children or no children, we had each other, and maybe that was how it

was meant to be. I didn’t understand it, but I could accept it if only Faye

would smile. How I missed her sweet smile and her laugh. The sound of

her laughter used to fill our home. If I concentrated hard enough, I could

still hear it echoing through the halls. I vowed I would do whatever it took

to hear her laugh again.

Those we love ne’er go away

They live in our hearts each and every day.

Gone but not forgotten that's where they are

Their spirit lives within you

Forever as your heart...

Chapter 8 Oma Gets Sick

Doug and I tried to make Edna comfortable in her last few

months with us. When I lost the baby, she seemed to lose her will to

live. This strong woman looked so feeble, and my heart broke for her.

On the nice, warm days, I would take her out on the back deck that

overlooked the gullies and then the forest. Edna loved to come out

here; she would worry me though because she would often sit on her

wheelchair and hold lengthy conversations with Timmy. She laughed

and she cried. I cried for her because it seemed her mind was going

quicker than her body could deteriorate.

Edna seemed to get sick shortly after I lost the last baby. She

seemed to catch a cold, and it just never got any better. After many

doctor visits, it was as if she had just given up. Now we kept her as

comfortable as we could because we both knew that the end would

soon come for her. She would spend her days on the deck, talking to

who she insisted was Timmy, and her nights were spent in fitful sleep.

On the colder days, when she couldn’t go outside, she would just sit quietly by the window that

overlooked the back deck and would hold her hand up as if she was

trying to let someone or something know she was still there.

She would often tell me, “Faye, he’s scared and wants to come

home but doesn’t know how to.” Those simple words haunted me still.

It used to bother me that she would talk as if my Timmy was dead,

but now it was just the ramblings of an old woman, and I accepted it.

Timmy was not dead. He would come home.

Doug would come home earlier from work now; he would try to coax

his mother away from her perch by that window. It didn’t work and

would just agitate poor Edna and make Doug feel useless.

She would eat very little these days, so we knew the end would be

soon. Then one day, it did come; death came and stole Edna away

while she was napping on the back deck. It was swift and painless. I

went in to get her some warm tea because it was pretty cold out that

day. I tried to get her to stay in, but she insisted on being outside.

When I brought her the tea, her breathing was shallow. I went in to

grab the phone and call Doug, but she grabbed my hand and asked

me to sit with her. The last word I heard Edna speak was “Timmy.”

She brought her feeble hand to my cheek and gently stroked it, and

then our Edna was gone.

In our short lives, Doug and I had lost so many loved ones. We lost

Catherine, Timmy, and our last baby, Brandon.

Now we had lost Edna. She was the closest thing I had to a mother.

We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, and I knew that I was a

disappointment to her. But I loved her still, and I would love her until

the end. We were almost afraid to wake up in the morning,

wondering what would come next. Death seemed to be a sweet release

from the pain. Of course, I’d never say that to Doug. But sometimes, I

yearned for it. Sometimes, I just wanted to give up the fight and just

let go. I didn’t because I knew my husband would be ashamed of me,

and he would blame himself.

Doug was so strong; I don’t know how he does it. He always tried to

make me laugh. The few times I did, it sounded so hollow and foreign

to me. It was as if it was a stranger’s voice I hear and not my own.

When Edna passed away, Doug seemed to take it in stride. It was

a bad thing when death doesn’t affect you like it should anymore. He

went through the steps almost mechanically—the funeral, the burial,

and then it was done. If he mourned for his mother, he did it in

silence. I was too caught up in my own world to notice the lines that

were permanently etched in his brow. I was too preoccupied to notice

the faraway look he had and the tears threatening to spill down his

cheeks. I didn’t notice that he barely came to bed, and when he did, he

slept maybe an hour or two.

Maybe it was my way of coping—the oblivion and numbness. The

world around me did not exist. The only reality I knew was my safe

haven—my house. This was where Timmy would come home to.

Little by little, I found excuses to never leave. Oh, I justified my

reasons. What if no one was home when my son came or no one was

here to answer the phone when he called? Life had been cruel to us,

but we were each strong in our own way. Besides, Timmy was not

dead. I wouldn’t accept that. If Doug noticed the change in me, he

never said anything. Doug did what he does; he just accepted it as

another part of his life.

We never went out, and no one ever came to visit except one. First, he

came out of duty, but then he came out of the goodness of his heart.

When Timmy disappeared, we always had police stopping by.

Officer Jess, one of the nice ones who used to stop by on a regular

basis, only came by from time to time now. I used to think it was out

of pity or duty, but then it became a real friendship. We often got into

what I called

were arguments, but he said they were a difference of opinion. He

would try to convince me that there was no evidence that Timmy was

alive. I always came back with “well, there is no evidence that he is

dead either!” At that, Officer Jess would just put his hand on my

shoulder, give it a knowing squeeze, get up, sadly shake his head, and

say his goodbyes and leave.

I wonder what he thinks. Sometimes, not often though, he would

stop in just to check on us. When Doug was at work, he stopped by to

see if I was okay. He noticed and questioned me as to why I never left

the house. My explanation didn’t sit well with him. Training had

taught him though that people have different ways of coping with

tragedy, and he guessed this was mine.

Besides Officer Jess, no one really came around anymore. If Doug

gets an invite to a hospital function, he would politely bow out

because he knew I wouldn’t go. My rationale was simple: if we were

gone and Tim was to come home, well, then there would be no one

home. I made sure there was always someone home . . . always.

And so went our life. The few friends we had quit coming by,

and the phone quit ringing. The visits from the police became farther

and farther apart. People kind of forgot we existed. I liked it this

way. I am sure the sensationalism would start up again when my son

reappears. All the doubters and the naysayers would eat their words.

And my Doug would smile again. My family would be complete, and

life would be good. I just have to hold on. Some days flew by, while

others were spent crying into my pillow. With Edna gone, there was

no one to talk to. Doug was never here anymore. I longed for the

laughter.