HOMECOMING

  

In 1980, Bill and I and our three young children moved back to my home town, St. Clair, Michigan on the St. Clair River.  I had been away for 15 years but I had friends and family still living  here.  

I loved our mid-century cape cod house.  I could never leave home without first admiring the traditional blue color, the white shutters , two dormers evenly spaced on the steep roof, flower filled window boxes and a white picket fence.  

And so it was, that I stood on the sidewalk admiring my house on an August summer day in 1981.  I was on my way to teach a Lamaze Childbirth Class at a local church within walking distance. 

The three children were inside with a teenage babysitter, Maryann.  I needed a babysitter because their dad was 15 miles away leading a board meeting at his office in Algonac.  

I was in mid-sentence of explaining how the partners were to time contractions during labor when two men burst  in.  I recognized the friends as they came toward me, men on a mission.

  "Betty, you need to come home, Ross is missing!"

My first reaction was to laugh at the absurdity. " No, not Ross," my  extremely shy 4 year old middle child.  In crowds or unfamiliar surroundings, he hid behind my legs.  He rarely spoke to adults, even relatives he new.  

The two looked back at me solemnly, "Betty, many people have searched your house, yard and neighborhood, Ross is gone. 

My class surrounded me, silent,  staring blank-faced.  I threw my self into the best defense humans have against the unthinkable, complete denial.  Even though I was told he was not in the house, I knew he was.  He had to be. 

It was denial speaking when I told my class I will be back in 20 minutes.  Walking out, I made a plan B,  "If I'm not back in 20 minutes, leave and the door will lock behind you."

The ride home took just a few minutes.  I was too dazed to think anything. 

My yard was filled with people. A police car with the blue light flashing had pulled up to the curb. Neighborhood kids hung on the fence and everyone was very concerned about Ross, the missing child.  The atmosphere was electric.  

My dad was there, too.  He had been in the Special Police, a volunteer group supporting the local police during emergencies, festivals, Friday night football games and also helped form search parties.  He was busy doing just that.  He looked  professional, giving instructions and asking for volunteers to search the nearby field and woods. My other two children were safe in the back yard with my mom.  The babysitter was being consoled by her mother.  

My sisters met me in the driveway.  "Let's search the house again." We went from room to room starting in the basement and systematically searched the house top to bottom.   We did not find him.  I felt  cold fear creep up my spine.

That same year a little 6 year old boy, Adam Wash. went missing while shopping in a mall with his mother.  The family tragedy was carried non stop in the news.  The missing children milk carton  campaign had started with pictures of young children and the words, "Have you seen me?"   The Stranger Danger instructions to school age children had created a general panic.  

After the fruitless search, I told my sister to go outside, leave me alone, I will make one more search.  I began to talk to Ross like he was there and could hear me.  I fought to stay calm as I began in the finished basement.   

I told a favorite story that I read at bedtime almost every night, "The Spooky Old Tree."  I knew it by heart after so many readings. "Three little bears, one with a light, one with a rope and one with a stick. A spooky old tree...Do they dare go into that spooky old tree?  Yes, they dare."

I searched every room down there, under and behind every object.  I struggled to stay calm.  Ross had to be here, somewhere. The alternative  was that he had  been abducted.  

On the first floor, the house was as quiet as a tomb.  I continued with the Spooky Old Tree Story in a calm and gentle voice.  I was being comforted, too, by the familiar story.  I looked everywhere, even impossible places like the stove and refrigerator and down the laundry shoot.  I looked in closets, behind the hanging clothes, the curtains the  couch.  Under tables  and beds, in the bathtub behind the shower curtain.  

I heard a sound and turned to find Ross standing in the hallway.  "Here I am Mommy."

I swept him into my arms with joy and blubbered, "Sweet mother of God, all the angels and saints Alleluia and amen."

So relieved to see him, in an instant  my worst fears were cast away. I teetered on the  edge of both laughing and crying.  

I rushed outside  with Ross in my arms, the gathered crowd let out a collective gasp of both relief and wonder like a crowd watching a magic trick.   "Where was he?" someone shouted.

My house had been searched multiple times, his name being shouted in the house, yard and neighborhood.  

Some of the faces, including my father after first  appearing relieved, became shadowed with exasperation.  "Aren't you going to spank him?"  After all, he had caused my family to 

panic concerned the neighbors, terrified the babysitter brought the police.   Couldn't he have just come out and spared us all?

Ross hugged me tight and turned away from the gathering not wishing to be the center of attention.  First the police left and  eventually all went home relieved if not overjoyed.

Once inside, I asked Ross to show me where he had been.  I had not found him.  He had revealed himself.

He took me upstairs to the master bedroom, rounded the end of the bed and pointed at a space below a built in-desk in one of the dormers typical of cape cod houses. We didn't use the desk and there was no lamp.  It was like a cave underneath.  He had hidden there after an embarrassing accident.  Unwilling to go to an unfamiliar babysitter, he found safety in a little hidey-hole.  The unfamiliar voices made him draw further into the shadows. Refusing to come out until he heard the familiar voice of his mother.

I put the kids to bed following the usual night time rituals which included reading the Spooky Old Tree, a Bearinstain Bear story, a momma, poppa and three siblings bears matching our own family.   

I heard the back door open as Bill returned home oblivious to the chaos  that ensued while he was gone.  Pre cell phone era and no  office staff to answer phones kept him from being contacted.  Fortunately, I didn't need the Algonac Police.   I gave a blow by blow account.  We were comforted by the angelic sleeping faces of our children.

  Ross is 47 now, has his own family and is anything but shy.  After marrying, his first house coincidentally was a cape cod.    The ending of book I was reciting that day in 1981 has become  a sacred incantation for our family when we return from trips.

In the story, After many  big scares in the Spooky old tree, the three little bears run home to momma's open arms.  Every one says in unison, "Home Again Safe at LAST.