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Message 1 of 16
In Response to Life After Abduction:

 Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found?  Many live on. 


It was the day of my second birthday.  The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado.  I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted.  I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party.  My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear.  She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day. 


I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house.  The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house.  There was a garage with no car.  The road was a dirt road.  At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field.  As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger.  The day was becoming hot.


Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth.  It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time.  He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow.  I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that.  He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."  He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound.  I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!"  I was placed in the trunk of that car.  Never forgetting the car.  Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind.  A tear goes down my face.  I remember but nobody believes me.  It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.


When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.  I was mesmorized by the trollies.  The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying.  The room was packed and ready to go.  We would leave the room behind in a few hours.  I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore.  Anything familiar was gone.  I cried for my frog toy.  I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy.  I cried.  This was the beginnng of a new and different life.


As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them.  Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted.  My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons.  They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents.  I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.


This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions.  So, the story begins.


 

  Hi,


I just read this and it makes me sad.  Did you ever see your real mom again?  Where did you move from San Francisco?  I'm waiting for the next part of your story.  This is good and intriguing.  Kids are so helpless and need protected in our world today and I guess they needed it 57 years ago as well.  There are so many questions to be answered about the rest of the story!  Write on!


Sasebone

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re: Life After Abduction

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Message 2 of 16
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  This didn't happen yesterday, this happened 57 years ago.  This is just a small portion of a life event.  Much healing has happened.  Yes, it is a pain that never leaves you but what are you going to do with the pain.  Be building, constructive, loving and understanding.  Trauma can be a learning thing.  Yes, you do affect the ending in that ability to learn.  Trauma does not need to be dehabilitating. 


Thank you for the insight of your visualization.  I have been toying with writing a book of these memories.  What do you think?

Starz,


What is time when a painful experience occurs? Is 1 hr. ago too short a time? Is 57 yrs. ago so far in the past that 'everyone' thinks:  "Surely you must have healed by now!"


I think it is reasonable that it will remain with you, affect your present & future experiences, and will  stop you 'dead in your tracks' unless you use it to help you learn, improve & understand. It can help you understand the painful paths others have also been dragged through. As you say, "Trauma does not need to be dehabilitating."


You are most welcome, kind lady for your comment about my visualization. I guess..no I KNOW I have always been a 'domino' person. What that means is this:  What or Which is the domino that started the falling down of all the other dominoes in a chain formation of tiles?


With that thought in mind, I think 2 things should and MUST occur. (1) Your thoughts of a possible book on those memories needs to be written. It is cathartic for you and it will possibly be a book someone/ somebodies may need to read. Helping you and helping someone else...what a definite win-win situation! (2) I know I will soon write an account of my painful divorce. It was back in 1974 and yet I can remember all the details of it. It somehow allowed & helped me to find my present, wonderful, thoughtful, and caring husband. Kinda' sounds like a intro' to Match.com or the other relationship clones, huh?


In the meantime, let us both 'cook' those memories up a bit more in our brains, formulate our writing, whether a book form or not, and then write, refine, and write somemore. Are you game? Somehow I think you will accept the challenge! Am I correct?


Peace,


Kacz


"Be kind to others because everyone is fighting some kind of battle."


 

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re: Life After Abduction

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It never ceases to amaze me how early childhood events such as this stay with us forever, influencing our actions for decades to come. I'm also amazed how people can remember events from such an early age so clearly. I can't remember anything before kindergarden  when I was five. Actually this sounds like a good subject to write on since I suspect a lot of us have childhood memories we'd just as soon forget. I know I do.



  I always remembered bits a pieces of the traumatic events of my childhood.  In order to go through my own healing I was hypnotised and re-lived it, re-felt it all as if it was happening all over again.  It was difficult but very cathargic and cleansing.  That is why I was able to write it so crisply.  Don't be so amazed. 



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Message 4 of 16
In Response to Life After Abduction:

 Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found?  Many live on. 


It was the day of my second birthday.  The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado.  I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted.  I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party.  My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear.  She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day. 


I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house.  The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house.  There was a garage with no car.  The road was a dirt road.  At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field.  As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger.  The day was becoming hot.


Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth.  It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time.  He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow.  I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that.  He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."  He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound.  I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!"  I was placed in the trunk of that car.  Never forgetting the car.  Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind.  A tear goes down my face.  I remember but nobody believes me.  It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.


When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.  I was mesmorized by the trollies.  The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying.  The room was packed and ready to go.  We would leave the room behind in a few hours.  I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore.  Anything familiar was gone.  I cried for my frog toy.  I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy.  I cried.  This was the beginnng of a new and different life.


As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them.  Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted.  My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons.  They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents.  I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.


This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions.  So, the story begins.


 

  Every Mother's nightmare.  This story needs to be told, we never hear about the "otherside" of these horrible events.  Thank you for letting us read your "life" story.


Nikki

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Message 5 of 16
In Response to Life After Abduction:

 Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found?  Many live on. 


It was the day of my second birthday.  The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado.  I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted.  I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party.  My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear.  She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day. 


I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house.  The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house.  There was a garage with no car.  The road was a dirt road.  At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field.  As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger.  The day was becoming hot.


Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth.  It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time.  He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow.  I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that.  He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."  He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound.  I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!"  I was placed in the trunk of that car.  Never forgetting the car.  Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind.  A tear goes down my face.  I remember but nobody believes me.  It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.


When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.  I was mesmorized by the trollies.  The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying.  The room was packed and ready to go.  We would leave the room behind in a few hours.  I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore.  Anything familiar was gone.  I cried for my frog toy.  I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy.  I cried.  This was the beginnng of a new and different life.


As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them.  Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted.  My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons.  They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents.  I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.


This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions.  So, the story begins.


 

It never ceases to amaze me how early childhood events such as this stay with us forever, influencing our actions for decades to come. I'm also amazed how people can remember events from such an early age so clearly. I can't remember anything before kindergarden  when I was five. Actually this sounds like a good subject to write on since I suspect a lot of us have childhood memories we'd just as soon forget. I know I do.



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Message 6 of 16
In Response to Life After Abduction:

 Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found?  Many live on. 


It was the day of my second birthday.  The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado.  I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted.  I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party.  My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear.  She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day. 


I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house.  The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house.  There was a garage with no car.  The road was a dirt road.  At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field.  As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger.  The day was becoming hot.


Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth.  It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time.  He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow.  I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that.  He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."  He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound.  I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!"  I was placed in the trunk of that car.  Never forgetting the car.  Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind.  A tear goes down my face.  I remember but nobody believes me.  It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.


When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.  I was mesmorized by the trollies.  The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying.  The room was packed and ready to go.  We would leave the room behind in a few hours.  I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore.  Anything familiar was gone.  I cried for my frog toy.  I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy.  I cried.  This was the beginnng of a new and different life.


As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them.  Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted.  My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons.  They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents.  I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.


This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions.  So, the story begins.


 

 A compeling and remarkable vignette, Starz....and I believe you.  This would make a fascinating book.  I encourage you to write it.  I don't remember ever reading a book review about an autobiography of abduction.  This is an excellent start.


Charlotte

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Message 7 of 16
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  I would like to think that writing the story would also be a story of great triumph.  There is the other side of pain and in that is great happiness and an incredible inner strength.  God has blessed me as I hope you have been as well.



I've had my own heart broken more than once in various ways.  I must possess that inner strength because I'm still plugging along having overcome any sadness or abuse that life has thrown my way.  I have also experienced great joy and accomplishment and spiritual growth and still do each and every day.  In some ways I have had a wonderful life and no joy can eclipse what I feel when one of my grandchildren runs up to me saying "Nana Nana Nana" and jumps into my arms.  It is all consuming and I am happily experiencing it most every week.  I also have many other joys in my life as I hope you do.  I am sure you are a very strong person made stronger by all you have overcome.  I hope your life turned out to be a happy one.  It still touches my heart.


Marti

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Message 8 of 16
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Tears are rolling down my face as I read what is unbelievable, yet I believe.  I can't imagine your having told the story better.  I also can't imagine starting your life over on your second birthday - a new birth.  Do you still have memories of that other life - the one that was taken from you and your parents?  I'm glad you are able to share understanding with your children.  I wish I could take away the pain that 57 years ago or not must still be there in some piece of your heart.  I believe you.  Yes I would love to read your book - though heartbreakening it would be.  


Thank you for sharing this striking part of your life with us.


Marti 


 

  I would like to think that writing the story would also be a story of great triumph.  There is the other side of pain and in that is great happiness and an incredible inner strength.  God has blessed me as I hope you have been as well.



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Message 9 of 16
In Response to Life After Abduction:

 Has anyone ever wondered what happens to those kids that are taken and never found?  Many live on. 


It was the day of my second birthday.  The middle of September had a snow fall during the night in Colorado.  I was amazed by the snow when I woke up in the morning. The day was warm as the snow quickly melted.  I wore my favorite pink dress and black patent leather baby doll shoes. I was daintily dressed for my party.  My mother was commenting to my father I was a child with no fear.  She found me half a mile away on my tricycle the other day. 


I went outside and rode my tricylce to the end of our sidewalk, not far from the house.  The sidewalk that didn't go anywhere but was just in front of the small house.  There was a garage with no car.  The road was a dirt road.  At the end was a tiny patch of cotton that grew from the planting of someone's field.  As I touched the cotton the sharpness of the plant pricked my finger.  The day was becoming hot.


Someone pulled up in a gray 1949 Plymouth.  It was hot and the man wore a fashionable but misplaced trench coat of the time.  He had a brimmed hat which covered his face in its shadow.  I thought, at the time, it was too hot to look like that.  He grabbed me from behind and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."  He put his hand over my mouth and I could not make a sound.  I heard my mother come out of the house, I saw her waiving her hands and screaming, "my baby, my baby, my baby!"  I was placed in the trunk of that car.  Never forgetting the car.  Today, when I go to a car show and see a 1949 Plymouth memories flood my mind.  A tear goes down my face.  I remember but nobody believes me.  It is an uncomfortable subject which nobody really wants to talk about.


When I woke up from an unnaturally deep sleep I looked out of the window of the small room.  I was on top of a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay.  I was mesmorized by the trollies.  The woman that I called mother for the next 57 years was crying.  The room was packed and ready to go.  We would leave the room behind in a few hours.  I did not have my favorite dress or baby doll shoes anymore.  Anything familiar was gone.  I cried for my frog toy.  I was broguht a hard rubber frog to replace my soft cuddly stuffed toy.  I cried.  This was the beginnng of a new and different life.


As my own children were small I had a deep fear for them.  Always hypervigilant, afraid they too would becomd abducted.  My special memory was helpful later in life when I adopted three sons.  They too had feelings of being abducted, more appropriately and legal, as they were removed from their parents.  I could afford to them special understanding of their memories.


This fateful day was only the beginning of a life-long journey into the spiritual and deep understanding of people and emotions.  So, the story begins.


 

Tears are rolling down my face as I read what is unbelievable, yet I believe.  I can't imagine your having told the story better.  I also can't imagine starting your life over on your second birthday - a new birth.  Do you still have memories of that other life - the one that was taken from you and your parents?  I'm glad you are able to share understanding with your children.  I wish I could take away the pain that 57 years ago or not must still be there in some piece of your heart.  I believe you.  Yes I would love to read your book - though heartbreakening it would be.  


Thank you for sharing this striking part of your life with us.


Marti 


 

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re: Life After Abduction

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Message 10 of 16
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Your  written piece created as scary a visualization as some of the Dean Kootz & Steven King books I've read. Your dilemma is a set of memories that will not totally die; they will be like the stone cast into a pool of water and the continuing concentric circles.


My prayer for you is this:  allow the memory to remain but with less hurt, and affect on your daily routine with your own children. Allow them to learn how to protect themselves, be wary of strangers and develop those fine & useful senses of vision, & even scent. They may come in very handy in the event of a possible reoccurrence of this sad event.


As you say, the story begins. But remember YOU CAN AFFECT THE ENDING.


Thank you for sharing this painful event. The world is not always a safe and happy place. But we need to know we can still have hope for a better future!

  This didn't happen yesterday, this happened 57 years ago.  This is just a small portion of a life event.  Much healing has happened.  Yes, it is a pain that never leaves you but what are you going to do with the pain.  Be building, constructive, loving and understanding.  Trauma can be a learning thing.  Yes, you do affect the ending in that ability to learn.  Trauma does not need to be dehabilitating. 


Thank you for the insight of your visualization.  I have been toying with writing a book of these memories.  What do you think?

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