The following passages have been taken from my journal over a
period of almost ten years. You will see my life unfold before your eyes. I
began this account when I was in the hospital praying for my husband to fight
for his life, praying for him not to give up, praying for him to come home to
his wife and children.
What follows are the events that put him in the hospital. I will tell you what
happened to him over a period of eight years while he was a prisoner in his own
mother’s care. And about the hell that I, as his wife, went through, not
knowing if he was alive.
My parents taught my four brothers and me that life is what you make of it. You
can set yourself up for failure or success. Each person is in control of his or
her destiny.
As I sit here today, thinking about that wise and sensible statement, I find
myself questioning it. Are we really in control? Is life really what we make of
it? I mean, was I ever in control of my life, or did I let others control me?
And what happens when other people step in and suddenly claim what you thought
was your life? Tell me, who would be in control then?
Was it worth eight years of my life?
You tell me.
***
Do you
know what it feels like when someone comes up behind you and says or does
something that just scares the hell out of you? Even if they didn’t mean to do
it, you suddenly find yourself a few feet away from where you had been standing
trying to access the situation. During that time, you’ve forgotten to breathe,
and your heart is pounding incredibly hard. You face that fear head on, trying to
determine whether or not you should keep running and your functioning purely on
adrenaline. Your pulse has taken on a life of its own, and you break out in a
sweat as you start panting to catch your breath. You then realize it was a
joke, intentional or not, and you’re able to see it for what it was- a joke,
and you’re able to share in the laughter. Believe it or not, all of that
happens in the course of just a few seconds. As fast as those feelings of fear
hit you, they’re gone, and you’re on your merry way, laughing throughout the
day about it.
Well, these feelings that one feels when they are scared and they have
absolutely no control over their fate are the same feelings that I have been
living with for eight long years. I sat in that cold white hospital room
surrounded by machines, and listened to the steady hums and beeps with each
passing second not knowing if my husband would ever wake. The respirator was
the loudest, if I closed my eyes it sounded as if someone was breathing deeply
and the steady beeps from the heart monitor kept in rhythm with it.
There’s no possible way that I could describe any of this and make it sound
pleasant. The two IV stands, were at the front of the bed, and a cart to the
right of them that held the machine that told the nurses and doctors what that
patient couldn’t.
Honestly, I hadn’t even looked at the walls. I couldn’t tell you if they were
even there, much less decorated. Does description really matter to you when
someone you love is fighting to live?
The blinds covering the big picture window had been opened to allow the
afternoon sun in. The rays off the sun hit the edge of the bed in streaks, and
I saw particles floating in the beams dancing around in the light. Caiden loves
the sun. He told me one of the reasons he moved to
My eyes almost never left my Caiden’s thin face. The tube they had taped to his
mouth breathing for him, the bandage around his head, the black and blue around
his eyes still didn’t take from his looks. I wished he would open his aqua blue
eyes for a few seconds so that he could see me and I could see him. I just
wanted to tell him how much I loved him.
I wiped my eyes and got up to stretch. I walked to the window to look out; I
looked past the parking lot below, my eyes settled on the trees in the woods
across the way. I’d come to love the landscape in
Caiden, my husband, and the father to my three children had been missing for
eight long agonizing years, and when he was finally found a week ago, he was
almost dead. He’s thirty-five years old. He’s my life and I didn’t know who he
was anymore.
I arrived in
The clouds always moved in fast, bringing with it promises of rain, it had
rained everyday for the past week and the weather matched my mood perfectly.
The branches and leaves on the trees in the parking lot gently swayed in the
wind, people walked to and from their cars. I could see the ambulances from
this room, the sirens I didn’t hear, but I could see the flashing lights.
I wasn’t here when they brought Caiden in.
The State Police escorted the ambulance that held him. Each and every one of
those kind men and women came to know Caiden through me and my brother Chase.
Not a day went by that a few of them didn’t stop in to see how he was doing,
praying for him and leaving instructions to call if anything changed about his
condition. Caiden became the poster child for missing adults and I became his
spokesperson.
***
For eight long years we’ve searched long and hard for Caiden. For eight long
years my life was so completely turned upside down and inside out by sick and
cruel people. Those sorry excuses for human beings did all they could to
destroy my family. They went as far as trying to kill Caiden to keep him from
his wife and children.
I should have seen it coming. We both should have, but we ignored it. We
ignored the threats, the talks, all of it. We were too busy being in love.
I went back to my chair and sat next my husband. I gently kissed the top of his
hand and laid my head on the side of the bed praying to God to bring Caiden
back.
I’ll share my story with you, in hopes that maybe the next missing person flyer
you see maybe someone living down the street and in need of help. A short
message and it’s an easy one. Open your eyes to what’s around you, take note of
it all. The breeze in the trees, the squirrels playing in the grass, the
children’s laughter in their yards, the passing cars, the cries, and yells for
help. I beg to you to listen to all of it, because one day you just might help
save someone like Caiden.
Caiden tried to get help, he yelled and cried and begged, but fear kept him a
prisoner. Sometimes we think it’s easier to ignore what we don’t like and hope
it goes away and we can pretend it was never there because it’s almost seven
and your favorite show is about to start. At seven fifteen that person crying
for help is slowly dying and at eight, when your show is over, that person
passed away. That person could have been my Caiden, my children’s father.
Once again I plead with you, you may not think you can help someone in a state
of despair, you may not think the person shouting or pleading or crying for
help is serious, and you may think things will work out, but it’s not always the
case. We are all humans, and we all need each other, each and everyone needs
someone. Don’t turn a blind eye, look at it dead on, and be sure before you
turn away.
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