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Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found? Many live on.
It was the day of my second birthday. The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado. I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted. I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party. My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear. She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day.
I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house. The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house. There was a garage with no car. The road was a dirt road. At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field. As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger. The day was becoming hot.
Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth. It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time. He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow. I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that. He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound. I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!" I was placed in the trunk of that car. Never forgetting the car. Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind. A tear goes down my face. I remember but nobody believes me. It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.
When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room. I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay. I was mesmorized by the trollies. The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying. The room was packed and ready to go. We would leave the room behind in a few hours. I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore. Anything familiar was gone. I cried for my frog toy. I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy. I cried. This was the beginnng of a new and different life.
As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them. Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted. My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons. They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents. I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.
This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions. So, the story begins.
I just read this and it makes me sad. Did you ever see your real mom again? Where did you move from San Francisco? I'm waiting for the next part of your story. This is good and intriguing. Kids are so helpless and need protected in our world today and I guess they needed it 57 years ago as well. There are so many questions to be answered about the rest of the story! Write on!