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Blue Flowers and Teddy Bears

The Time I Was Kidnapped

By Jessica GricePublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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I remember the cold feeling of the plastic highchair and eating sticky cheerios (sticky 'cause most of them had already been in my toddler-sized mouth) while watching from the doorway of the kitchen across to the den where my cousins were spread out on the floor playing Operation. I remember the sound of the buzzer going off every few minutes and being startled by the loud buzzing each time one of them missed and hit the silver sides. I remember asking my aunt over and over and over again when I could go home to Mommy and Daddy and being told the same thing every time... soon. I remember crying at the answer.

I do not remember how many times or how long I had to beg to get my parents to allow their three-year-old to go to Atlanta with my Aunt to visit more with my cousins. I do not remember the drive from west Tennessee to Atlanta, Georgia. I do not remember how long I was there or how many days in a row I asked the same question of when I may go home. I do not remember how long it took for my first trip away from my family to turn from a joyous adventure to a horrid nightmare. I do not remember exactly how long I was there. I do not remember hearing any of the phone calls from my mother to my aunt trying to plea with my aunt to return me home. I do not even remember hearing the phone call from my Grandfather, whom we called Grumpy, angrily calling and demanding that my aunt bring me home. I do not remember the drive home.

I do remember the dim lit room being filled with somber faces. I do remember the blue flowers all standing at the front of the room. I remember seeing several teddy bears attached to these flowers. I remember being taken to a grey concrete stairwell and sat down. I remember looking up at the red faces that were supposed to be the faces of my father and mother, but they were more like ghost faces of my parents. I remember the feeling of knowing that something was not right; that something was terribly wrong. I can still feel that feeling now, that horrible angst thinking about it. I remember my dad choking on the words as he told me that my six-month-old little brother had passed away. I remember feeling that it was my fault for wanting to leave and go to Georgia. I remember thinking that if I had not gone he would still be here.

It took years for me to convince anyone to fill in the blanks of that story for me, but as a teenager was finally made to understand the accounts of what happened during those weeks. I was three going on four-years-old and it was Christmas time. After we celebrated Christmas at my house with my two aunts, their families, my granddad and his wife, and my family, I asked to go to Atlanta with my aunt so I could play with my cousins more. My cousins were mostly foster children of this aunt along with one boy she had adopted as she was unable to have children of her own. My mother and aunt had a very rocky (hot and cold) relationship. I was supposed to spend a week there and then my aunt was supposed to bring me back the following week. Sometime within the week, she decided that she was not going to bring me back and instead was going to keep me for herself. My mother and father pleaded with her several times to bring me back. At first, she made excuses blaming the weather for the reason she had not returned me. By the third week, she just bluntly refused to return me and told my mother she was not fit to parent me. Suddenly during one night of the third week, my brother became very ill and was rushed to the ER. He died several hours later of a rare blood disease that was never picked up on any of his first six months of checkups. That is when my grandfather intervened on my parents' behalf and called my aunt, demanding that she bring me back or he was coming to get me. She finally relinquished after finding out about my brother. I got to be welcomed home by the funeral of my baby brother. For years of my childhood, I illogically blamed myself for his death; which as an adult I know is silly. As an adult I am still angered at my aunt to this day for stealing what precious time I had left to see my brother, Joshua. I can still picture him in his carrier, drenched in our cat's newborn kittens. I still have one of his precious nursery teddy bears that I've been holding onto for the last thirty years. It's peculiar what memories one's mind will not let go of and the emotions you can still feel as if it was just a few minutes ago instead of decades ago.

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About the Creator

Jessica Grice

I'm a married thirty something year old that just needed an outlet to air out some old baggage that's been piling up. I've always enjoyed writing and creating pretty much anything with my hands that allows me to express myself.

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