As I sit in the church basement listening to sad and weary women eat stale cookies, I wonder briefly how my life could have changed so much in a year. Last year at this time, I still had Lilah with me. We watched 2020 that last night together. They were showcasing a story of kidnapped children who were never recovered. She had been making fun of me for burning another attempt at dinner that night, before she saved me from myself and ordered us a pizza. I remember looking at Lilah, still safe with me. How could those mothers have been so foolish and careless with their children? I’ve kept her safe for sixteen years; why couldn’t they? The next day the event happened. Despite all the worry, concern, and dread crashing through my mind at that moment, one thought stuck out above all others: I shouldn’t have judged those mothers so harshly.
Cindy, the leader of the group, stands up after everyone finishes munching. All eyes go to her as she begins her speech.
“Welcome. Thank you for coming today. I know that this is not a place where anyone of us wants to be, but we are here to support each other. Twenty years ago, my daughter, Beth went missing. She was walking to school, but never arrived. She still has not been found to this day. I ended up meeting another mother going through the same thing. We decided to find all of the mothers in our area going through these situations, and form a group where we can lend support to each other. No one else in the world knows what you’re going through. But we do. If you feel comfortable, please go around in a circle and tell us why you are here today.”
She turns to the woman on her left. I’m on her right, which means I’m last. The woman who looks to be in her sixties lifts her melancholy eyes.
“I’m Leona. I’m only 43, but I probably don’t look it right?” she says this with the saddest laugh that contains no humor. “My son, Louis went missing at the age of two, four years ago. He should have started kindergarten this year. I left him with his father, my ex-husband. When I returned, my ex-husband said our son was out with his girlfriend. The person he was speaking of didn’t exist, but he refused to say where our son actually was. I still don’t know where Louis is, and my ex has confessed nothing to the police.” She ends this with her face dripping with tears. Everyone is nodding their heads and making sympathetic noises. How can anyone stand to be here? We should be out looking for our children! If I were to look a little bit harder, I know I could find Lilah. I have half a mind to leave right now, but my brother had dropped me off in the parking lot before driving off. I think back to our conversation and the desperate look on his face before I got out of the car.
“This is for your own good, Stephanie. I know you don’t want to go, but you need to. Maybe you can find solace or support from these women. Hey, if that doesn’t work, maybe you could at least make fun of their outfits!” My brother’s ringing false laugh had filled the car at his failed attempt at humor. I had looked away, out the window. He took my hand, and I had turned to him.
“Please, Steph. I know how much you’ve been hurting. I miss Lilah, too. And I know I’m not Jack, but I want to be there for you. Why do you think I moved in with you?”
“I thought you were just trying to freeload off of me.” I said this with a smile that was hard to muster, and I got out of the car to my brother’s real laugh filling the air.
Everyone continues in a circle. They say their names and explain how long ago their children went missing, and what happened. They all finish their stories with tears dripping down their faces and with everyone making those awful sympathetic noises. This is miserable! Why did I let my brother talk me into coming here? He doesn’t even have kids! I thought everyone here would tell me how they were actively looking for their children. Yet it sounds like everyone has given up hope. They all turn to me. If they think I’m going to be a Debbie Downer, they got another thing coming.
“My name is Stephanie. My daughter’s name is Lilah. She was sixteen when she went missing last year. I know Lilah’s still out there, and I am going to find her. The search parties and the police have spent their time looking for a body, but I know she’s still alive. Lilah had told me she was going to a party that night. She never came home. One of her friends said she got a ride home with a different friend. Someone else said they saw her walking home. Yet another person told me that she took the city bus. Surveillance footage in that area is limited, and there has not been any information that could help police. Lilah is out there and she needs me. Somehow, someway I will bring her home. I will not sit her and feel sorry for myself until then.” I stand up at that last sentence. Everyone looks at me with a shocked silence.
Furious and slightly smug, I turn and walk out the door until I hear someone speak. It’s Leona, the “old” lady. I turn to face her and am surprised to see the sudden fire in her eyes. When she speaks, venom comes out of her mouth.
“Do you think we all are too lazy or selfish to look for our children? Do you think that we haven’t all been absolutely out of our minds looking for them? My son means the world to me. I think about him every. Single. Day. I would give everything I have to bring him home. I do not feel sorry for myself. None of us do. No one wants to be here. But at some point, you have to keep living and continue with your life. I pray every day for him to come back. Until then, we all are going to keep living and supporting each other. So, yeah, you can feel superior right now. You still have that fervent hope. But eventually you will feel worn down and lonely. You will want and need our support, because no one else knows what you’re going through. Welcome to our group, otherwise known as the club no one wants to join.”
With that she turns and sits down. I walk away stunned. By time the next meeting rolls around, I find myself sitting there on a hard plastic chair next to Leona eating the stale cookies. I felt so high and mighty last week, but as soon as I got home I didn’t know what to do. The police had already interrogated everyone at the party that night. There didn’t seem to be any evidence that I could uncover. I felt as though I was going to have a panic attack.. Leona was right, as much as I hated to admit it. I did need the support of those women.
While Leona looks to another mom who comes in and starts chatting with her, I pull out my phone and turn it on. There’s a picture of me and Lilah on the lock screen. The picture had been taken four years ago, by my husband, Jack. We had been on vacation in Barcelona. It had been the happiest time for all three of us. That was until Jack had an unsurvivable heart attack, two months later. Tears start brimming in my eyes, despite my promise to myself that I wouldn’t cry at the meeting today. I won’t give up on you Lilah.