Wouldn’t it be awesome if you could redecorate your past? How I wish I wouldn’t have thrown away three years of my life—given them to a man whose heart was black and intentions were evil. I won’t say I wish I never got pregnant, because that feels like I’d be jinxing you. You deserved life. But I deserved to keep you in my life, too.
I’ll never give up looking for you, hoping for some small clue that will reunite us, mommy and daughter, together again. You know what I do sometimes? I comb obituaries, searching for the name Jason Baxter. Is it awful to yearn for someone’s death? I suppose it is. Tati tells me to quit, that bitterness makes people old. But how can I not be bitter?
Oh, Casey, do you even remember your mommy? I think about you every single day. Sometimes I cry for you at night. Your baby blanket? I keep it folded under my pillow, unwashed because it still holds the faint scent of you.
Through the relentless motion of time, I discovered a certain momentum and attained goals far beyond any I thought within reach. The haunts of my past played a role in that, drove me into a comfortable present, at least as measured by personal success.
September 11, 2006
It’s your birthday, darling Casey. I hope wherever you are whoever you’re with is celebrating your day in a big way. I know you might never see these updates, but I decided to write them on your birthday so I’ll always remember to do them. I’ll never forget the importance of this day. Or give up on spending future birthdays with you.
Not a whole lot has changed in the past year and a half, except I did start at ASU, which added a lot of work to my already busy life. But it will be worth it in the long run. Oh, I am doing some weekend reporting at the station, which means now I have to keep in shape so I look svelte on camera. Svelte. Cool word, yeah? And whoever would have thought I’d use it in reference to myself?
Doesn’t matter. I look good enough for Phoenix, apparently. It’s weird, but I actually get come-on e-mails from viewers. Men, of course. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from that. Once I was pretty watery about my sexual identity, and even now I can’t say I’m not attracted to good-looking men.
Who knows? Had I been attracted to the right man, rather than the handful I dated (especially your father), maybe I’d be married to one, and have a passel of kids to care for. I loved being a mommy. Don’t know what kind of mother I’d have made. Some people believe ambition is a bad thing for a woman to own. I don’t know what to think. All I know is Tati is more than enough “partner” for me. I just wish you were here, too.
September 11, 2007
Happy birthday, nine-year-old. You must be getting so big. Are you tall? I never mentioned it, and you surely can’t remember this, but your mommy (that’s me!) is five foot eleven. That’s pretty tall. Tati calls me Everest when she wants to tease me, though that’s kind of a stretch. Ha. Get it?
I’ve got one more year to finish up my communications degree. Tati is ahead of me. She got her criminal justice degree last year and is taking special coursework to become a credentialed victims’ advocate. She wants to help people, and she says I inspired that desire. She watched me suffer because I lost you. Can you imagine how many people like me there are in the world?
It might be hard to believe, but I still dream about you. My favorite is the Christmas dream. We’re decorating the tree and I’m singing that silly song I made up: Eggnog and beer make for too much good cheer, but you can bet the sleigh knows the way, so Santa please don’t sweat it. Dumb, I know, but you’re only three, frozen there in time, and you laugh and laugh, even if you only understand the gist of my words. That makes me laugh, too, and I am filled with happiness. It’s a joyous Christmas.
But then the dream ends when your father walks in, pissed off, and slams the door behind him. I hate when dreams get real.
September 11, 2008
Ten years old today. I can hardly believe it’s been an entire decade since that incredible day you came into the world. I run a finger along the C-section scar faded into a silver thread below my belly button, remember the first time I held you, all plump and pink and perfect. You looked up at me, and in your eyes was recognition. You knew me! Our connection, independent of a physical cord, was complete in that moment. We’re still connected, Casey, wherever you are. Jason can’t take that away from us. Ever.
So what’s up with me? Well, your mom’s an official college graduate. Finishing school definitely freed up my schedule. Now Tati and I actually have a little of this thing called “spare time,” and we’re using it to mountain bike. I love going outside the city and cruising back roads and trails. It’s a different adventure every time we go.
Speaking of going, Tatiana and I are moving to California! She got a job. I got a job. Both of us were lucky enough to find work in the same city: San Diego. I hear it’s beautiful, and am looking forward to leaving the desert in favor of the ocean. Not only that, but the TV station I’m going to work for is going to let me do sports! Chargers and Padres, woot-woot!
Oh, some bad news. I’ve tried to keep in touch with your father’s family, just in case. I’m not sure if you’re acquainted with your Uncle Drew, but he was a policeman. I say “was” because one of the bad guys killed him. I’m sorry about that. I liked Drew, even though I only met him in person once. When I’d call, asking about you, he could never offer any updates. But he was always kind, unlike your grandparents. Do you know them? I suspect you do, though they’ve never admitted it. Keeping us apart is more than callous. It’s unforgiveable.
September 11, 2009
Happiest birthday, my sweet Casey. Will you have a party and a cake with eleven candles? What kind of presents will you get? Maybe an iPod? Do you love music? I think you’re into hip-hop, don’t ask me why. Jay Z, perhaps, or Rihanna? When I was your age, I was all into country, but I left that behind in Texas. Are you in Texas? I hope not. I want more than that for you.
Tati and I have been in San Diego for ten months. Have you ever been here? It’s amazing! Perfect weather. Pacific Ocean. Big city, but not so big that you can’t live comfortably in the suburbs. And the people! Oh, Californians, at least most of them, embrace the motto “Live and let live.”
I mean, of all the states, with the possible exception of New York, California must be the most progressive. It doesn’t matter what color your skin is or who you’re in love with. As long as you embrace “Live and let live,” you can find happiness here. It’s refreshing, especially after the other places I’ve lived.
Of course, it’s not totally peace and love, or there wouldn’t be such a big need for victims’ advocates like Tati. Lots of crime in Southern California, though we haven’t seen a whole lot of it in our decent neighborhood. Working in the newsroom, I hear about it, though. I’m still a sports reporter, and loving my job.
I hope wherever you are (even if it is Texas) you’re happy there, too.
September 11, 2010
Oh, Casey! You’re twelve. I was thinking that if I saw you on the street I probably wouldn’t recognize you, and that made me so, so sad. But also mad! This giant bolt of anger, electric and white-hot, surged inside me. I wish I would’ve been angrier nine years ago. Wish I would’ve screamed from rooftops, knocked down doors, begged for TV airtime to take our story public. Instead, I passively waited for something to happen—for Jason to make a mistake, or for the cops to find him, or even for fate to bring you home to me.
That was my upbringing, Casey. That was my marriage. That was having self-respect beaten out of me. Learning the hard way not to question authority. I’m sorry I wasn’t tougher. I’m a different person today, and if—when—we’re together again, I’ll never let you down.
What are you like today? Do you still have coppery hair, or has it gone blond from the sun? Or maybe it’s even turned darker. Are you gold? Ginger? Auburn?
Are you athletic? Do you play soccer or softball or basketball? I wish I could take you to games with me. One of the best things about my job is watching from the side
lines. Best seats in the house, even if I’m mostly standing. I hope you like sports. I hope you’re a strong girl. I hope you’re happy. I hope you wonder about me.
September 11, 2011
Casey, my Casey. You’re officially a teenager today. Do you feel different having been awarded that designation? I remember when I was twelve I thought being a teen would magically change everything for the better. It didn’t, by the way.
Where has the time gone? Today is the tenth anniversary of the World Trade Center destruction. They’ve been rebuilding for a while now, and the plans for the new structures are grand! The replacement towers climb higher and higher, and One World Trade Center will be one of the tallest buildings on the planet once it’s complete. This morning, the memorial opens on the site and tonight the towers will be swathed in red, white, and blue lights.
Across the country, people can’t help but remember that terrible day. I know I’ll never forget it, not only because the events are seared into my memory, but also because it reminds me of you.
You’ve been gone for almost a decade. I’ve hunted and hunted for clues. But it’s as if a spaceship came down out of the sky, zapped you aboard, and flew away.
But I know you’re still on earth. My heart swears you’re here, and so I’ll keep chasing after every clue, no matter how small, until I find you.
September 11, 2012
Sweetest Casey. Another year has passed without you. Another year lost to us, twelve long months. Eleven years total. Funny, but I keep looking for signs—some whisper of fate to tell me this is the year, this is the month, this is the week I’ll find you.
Poor Tati. She must grow tired of my fretting. But if she does, she never lets on. In fact, whenever I feel like giving up, she’s the one who nags at me not to lose hope. She decided this year we should celebrate your birthday somewhere special, so I’m writing this on the beach on the Big Island of Hawaii, wearing leis and drinking piña coladas, which are way too sweet for me, though Tati loves them.
Have you been to Hawaii? For all I know, you might even live here. Then maybe you’d be a surfer. Do you ride? I’ve covered some surfing events. They’re intense.
Speaking of intense, my love for Tati has grown in intensity. She had a little skin cancer scare not long ago, and the idea of losing her freaked me out. It was okay in the end, but we spent several anxious days until we got the good news.
How I wish I’d get good news about you. I watch the heave of the ocean, listen to its crash and moan, hoping to hear that message from the ether. Will this be the year? Will this be the month? Will this be the week I find you?
September 11, 2013
Happiest birthday, Casey. I wish I could reach out and touch you, or at least pick up the phone and call to let you know not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, if only for a brief moment or two. I imagine how you look, what you’re doing. I imagine the joy of hugging you, wish for more than attachment by the slenderest thread of memory.
To move or not to move? That is the question of the day. Tati and I have been in San Diego for five years now, and I feel like it’s time for something new. I was offered an anchor position at the station, and have been considering it. It would mean more money, but a lot less freedom, and money isn’t everything.
So I’ve put out a few feelers, looking for work in different cities. The problem is, San Diego is a great market, and I love California. Plus, there’s Tatiana to consider, though she thinks it won’t be hard to find a job wherever I might end up. We’ll see.
How many times have you moved? I think it must’ve been many to have kept you so well hidden. Are you still with Jason? Sometimes I wonder if maybe he gave you away. Anything to keep us apart. The man is a monster.
September 11, 2014
Sweet sixteen. I guess you’ve probably been kissed by now. I hope whoever he—or she—is, that person treats you right. Don’t settle for less than the best partner, Casey. Don’t allow yourself to be used or abused. And never glom onto someone you don’t really love, thinking it’s a means of escape.
The person I escaped from is gone for good. My mother passed away last June. You know how I found out? I happened to read her obituary. She was living right here in San Francisco. Just as well I didn’t know, but I have to wonder if she ever saw me on TV, and if she did, whether she even recognized me—her daughter, sixteen years since we’d last seen each other. And that brings me right back to you.
I’m in San Francisco now, where it’s cooler than San Diego, and more expensive. Tati and I live in a little house near the beach, south of the city proper. I don’t cover much surfing up here, but there are sailing events, and I’ve discovered how much I love the sport. Not just watching it, but experiencing it. Skimming the water, powered by the wind, is pretty darn close to heaven.
We’ll sail together one day, you and me. I’ll show you the ropes. Ha-ha. I wonder what you can teach me.
September 11, 2015
Oh, Casey. Every year on this day I wake up and almost immediately see some kind of 9/11 tribute. A responder’s untold story, or a where-is-this-survivor-now article. The first thing I think of is you. That unimaginable event will forever be linked in my mind with my little girl’s disappearance.
That’s good and bad, I suppose. The World Trade Center destruction was an immense catastrophe, but to me, losing you was the greater tragedy, one I’ve never been able to reconcile because a huge piece of my heart went missing.
You know what I do? I get a cup of coffee and turn on my computer and do a web search for your name. I’ve found thirty Casey Baxters, but none of them is you. They’re either too old or too male.
Do you ever look for me? Do you even know my name? What has Jason told you about me? Oh, how I wish I knew. If I did, it might lead us to each other.
September 11, 2016
You’re eighteen years old today! All grown up, and on her way. You must be a high school senior this year. You’ll graduate in the spring. Do you have plans for college? Oh, you must! Don’t be a late bloomer like me. And don’t get married. Not for a while. Find out who you are first.
I guess that’s weird advice, considering I’ve been with Tati, like, forever, and when we first got together I had no clue who I was, other than your mommy. And then you were gone.
You know, I’ve no idea why I’m doing this anymore, other than to prove to myself I still believe we’ll find each other one day. It’s hard, baby. So hard. But I can’t forget you. Refuse to give up all hope. Instead, I’ll close my eyes and toss a birthday wish to the universe.
November 16, 2016
Oh my God. Did my wish come true? On slow news days, one of our producers pores over stories from the wire, Internet posts and articles from Northern California newspapers that might make good fillers. Today Randy handed me a copy of the Union Democrat, a paper in Sonora, which is not so very far from here. He pointed out a story about Charles Grantham’s daughter falling from her horse. Two teens had come to her rescue. I might not have thought twice about Ariel Pearson, except I recognized the man standing behind her.
He was identified as Ariel’s father, Mark Pearson. But even fifteen years couldn’t age Jason Baxter’s face enough to disguise it completely. I took another look at the tall, ginger-haired girl. It’s possible I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.
Ariel Pearson is you, Casey. I can hardly breathe! But now what do I do?
December 2016
Oh, to be given the gifts of the chameleon! Not only the ability to match the appropriate facade to circumstance at will, but also the capacity to look in two directions simultaneously. How much gentler our time on this planet would be.
I’ve spent almost half my life staring back over my shoulder at years I can’t regain. Years filled with regret for situations not in my power to change, vital things lost forever now. Years shadowed by anger at someone not worthy of even that emotion. Years emptied of you, dearest Casey.
That’s not to say they were empty. My b
est friend, lover, partner, and now wife coaxed me forward, one day draining into the next. She never let me despair completely, despite so many glimmers of hope snuffed out and promises shattered into lies.
It was Tati who stood me up when I fell on my knees, begging a God I didn’t believe in for your safe return. Tati who reminded me no force of Good was responsible for your disappearance; it was an instrument of Evil. Tati who urged me to keep going when I was certain I couldn’t take another step without you.
But I had to trudge on, didn’t I? Had to forge ahead, to have any chance at all of holding you again. How I’ve dreamed of that reunion, over and over again.
Just recently I found a shaky belief in luck.
Today, for the first time in a very long time, I dare to project myself into a future no longer devoid of you. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is to find you, my darling daughter, and to share my tomorrows with you.
It was totally random happenstance that led me to know your whereabouts. Ironically, you’re not very far from me, and neither is your father. I’ll have to play my cards carefully, but play them I will. I’m making plans to get you back into my life just as soon as I can.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
My personal experiences often inspire characters or story threads, and once in a while they are the driving forces behind one of my books. This is one of those books. When my youngest daughter was three years old, her father (my ex) picked her up from daycare and, in defiance of my custody orders, took her out of state. I lost her for three years.